Imagine you're attending a Gertrude Stein-style salon. And you've arrived at the gathering only to find yourself facing a set of chairs, beckoning you to sit, as one is wont to do at a salon. But as you grow closer to the inner sanctum, you begin to notice the strangeness of the chairs, draped in fabric that looms bigger and brighter with every step you take. You start to see the pustules, tendrils and spikes that, from a distance, might appear like part of a pattern, but are in fact three-dimensional features that prevent any human being from planting her body.
No, this is not a Dalian nightmare. Your very fictional, intellectual host has adorned her home with the work of Margarita Sampson. Those chairs are art. Please don't sit on the art.