In Consolidated Life, rows upon rows of grey desks – each set up with a typewriter, phone, pen, in-tray and chair – create an compelling pairing of a spectacular vision of eternal space, with the desperate monotony of interminable insignificant production. This repetitive space is interrupted by one lone chair that spins idly, as if propelled by an invisible belligerent worker. The scene merges the mundane and the spectacular, and is a metaphor for all that is at once immense and insignificant.