The space is transformed into a claustrophobic shrine: all the walls are lined with shallow shelves displaying an unbelievable collection of hundreds of hand-painted vintage beer cans. The floor is composition tile, the lighting (and the ceiling!) low, like a basement rec room from the 1970's.
The cans, on closer examination, are strange. Familiar-seeming packaging veers into the twilight zone with outré and fictional brands. Reading the labels will easily take all the time you need to wait for the elevator, and then some. The piece will remind the folk-art aware of the Beer Can House, a Houston tourist staple, and pop-art canned food from my own project, Bill's Junk.