The goal was to use humble, even crude materials to produce an image of technical sophistication—essentially to trick people into seeing advanced engineering where there was none. By reconfiguring how elements from different cultures are valued and interpreted, the project functions as a kind of playful deception—one that questions the authority of appearances and perception.

At the center of the installation was a large box labeled "Track Gallery." Surrounding the box were detailed blueprints of a robot, giving the impression that inside the box was a precision-built machine racing along a track, photographing artworks on the gallery walls. The illusion was reinforced by actual functionality: inside the box, we displayed iPad drawings by abstract painter Ruth Freeman. A live webcam feed captured and broadcast the gallery’s interior, giving it the appearance of a real, working exhibition space.

In reality, however, the box was filled with little more than junk. All the supposed technological sophistication was housed within a simple wooden drawer box tucked into a corner of my studio. Inside, a large rotating wheel—decorated with small artworks—turned continuously, while a basic webcam recorded the motion and streamed it to a monitor outside.

Using the most primitive tools and cheap materials, I constructed a convincing illusion of a high-tech robot and, in doing so, positioned myself as both a skilled technician and the owner of a “gallery” in the heart of New York City.

Track Gallery plays with the fragile boundaries between authenticity and illusion, value and worthlessness, technical expertise and theatrical bluff—turning the cultural “in-between” into a space of playful power.