‘The Corridor’ is a client requested design utilizing trompe l’oeil – a type of painting that creates an illusion of reality. The wall painted on used to be an old doorway to the next office and as a playful nod to its original purpose, the mural was done as if it extends to a new space with the imagery of the company's glass door as a point for another entryway.
Size: Approximately 8 feet x 3 feet Medium: Acrylic Paint
‘The Corridor’
The wall caves into another corridor, dim-lit and narrow. It wasn’t here before. An extension, maybe?
At the end of the corridor, there lies a glass door finished with a frosted sticker, blurring whatever lies ahead.
There is no one else in the room save you. Your only company is the tall air conditioner blinking the temperature in green digital numbers, buzzing a rough, spasmic rumble of tubes and metal casings as it breathes and sighs.
As you leave, you hear the familiar rattle of aluminum against aluminum. You stop and look back, realizing there is someone on the other side of the frosted glass. The door shakes as they try to open it.
Did someone forget their key?
You need to go home, but you can’t leave someone stuck in the office until morning. So, you sigh and enter the corridor.
The glass door rattles.
The passage is long, illuminated by cool LED lights that cast a clinical drabness on the tan walls. You glance behind, and somehow the office seems farther away than you realized.
The glass door rattles impatiently.
Annoyed, you sigh. It quiets down when you are three feet away. Facing the glass door, you notice the room beyond is an impenetrable blackness. The hair on your skin stands, but you dismiss it. You’re tired and hungry, and you want to go home. You reach for the steel handle and find it frigid. Surprised, you let go.
You startle at the echoing gurgle of the air conditioner as it belches a phlegmy rasp as the temperature drops.
Snorting at your own childish nervousness, you grasp the handle. As you enter the room, you realize it is completely dark. Taking out your phone, you use its torchlight feature. Still black. With your hands raised in front of you, you press forward. Immediately, you feel the cool, slick slab of solid concrete. Strange, you say, as your hand traces the immovable darkness in front of you and finds it stretches on and on and on… There is nothing there.
You turn back, but the door is shut. You push, you pull, and the metal hinges rattle. The air feels scarce as the walls close in around you. Panic rises like heat in your heart, but no matter how hard you try it doesn’t budge. Aluminum against aluminum.
The door is shut.
The door is shut.
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