Ann CT Braunsteiner, Lee Woodman @McKee Gallery Jan.2013

Extract from the Short Story ‘Room 268′
The rumor flew through the city within no time, spreading the words ‘a room for someone else’ needs to be built. This didn’t happen so often. It is like old institutions. Long corridors, with lots of rooms going off. Sometimes every room being identical. Sometimes behind every door a unique world. Many variations were possible. On each floor, if there were to be more than one floor, the first room is for someone else. Depending on the floor, a different team of the necessary trades was assigned to the task. So the big question in the city was, who? Ceci’la had been already informed to be part of the team. Not with a specific assignment. Going with her, the minimal requirements from the city, independent from floors, were at least a builder to make the interior of a room, someone from the Department of Written Words and someone from the Old Ones. Soon after the first rumors or still amongst them Sebastian from the Wood Folk, level 3 builder & design, Clementia from the Old Ones, a snail, Mrs Kafka, chief administrator in the Department of Written Words and of course Ceci’la were set up to go. The snails were a rather weird creature.
The diameter of their shells, under normal conditions were about a meter. But highly depending on the mood. Furthermore it was said, they could be incredibly fast. “Don’t bet on winning a race against them.’ That much was known.

[…] And after that, just to wait to 3 o’clock. And the klick. The room was totally empty. It was empty by the means that all walls were blank, a bare wooden floor, and two windows looking into nothing else than a wall of mist. One light bulb was hanging from the ceiling, with a film of dust. Nowhere else dust. Not in the corners, nor fluffing in little dust balls over the floor. Clean and no smell. Empty. All of them started straight into what they do. Sebastian building shelves, a desk, a chair, plates, cups. All sorts of things really. Level 3 was still a main building department. But hardly restricted and anyone at level 3 was using the mind only to create all details in a room. No actual tools were used anymore. And actually never were.

Mrs Kafka whispered in thousands and thousands of words. Into books on the shelves, magazines, leaving words behind everywhere, even if they were invisible written on the walls, the air, behind the window glass. Not a little tiny place wasn’t filled up with words. Clementia Snail walked around the room. Forward, left, right, up a wall, along the window sill, left, backwards, up the ceiling. Her movements looked unintentional, however, deep inside Ceci’la knew this was not what was going on.