Opening the door into somebody elses apartment is always exciting, especially if you have malicious intentions. Someone could be there. A person may be standing in the corner of their corridor waiting to hit you over the head with a cricket bat. But this particular apartment, this loft was owned by someone wealthy, someone important. Wandering through these halls void of light and full of glimmering curvy things, you dont really get a sense of who the person was, you never did. You can judge on the outside, but since youve snooped in other peoples private spaces before, you realise you cant get a sense of a person by their belongings or space. All the crap you buy for your place functions as a way of connecting with people. What you have learnt from all the break ins youve committed in your life, you can say that much. This thought came from an uncomfortable realisation that humans horde fanatically and scientifically, their thesis being how can I cause X affect on people in order for Y to happen?. We furnish our spaces with books, cologne bottles, records, enjoyable figurines, high-functioning furniture, lampshades, novelty shower curtains, sports and music and celebrity memorabilia, souvenirs... to the point where we build a social and, dare I say, political identity centred around these daft objects you surround yourself with. We are very clever rats. Maybe someone you secretly hold dear will see this object and love you for having this object. And so walking in this big exquisite room, you wonder what function do works of art - weather that be a painting or a coffee table book - have in a world where there is no body there to see these objects, whose sole purpose was once to invoke beauty?