You could say a Rock-climber has a special vision, one developed from the understanding of a surface that most of us will never touch--a rock face with its nuances and history formed or gouged from the natural elements--thrust, heat, rain, wind, and cold, each shifting, sometimes monstrously, or even if so slightly, to form anew.

A fortress walk: We stand vertical but walk horizontal, and within the urban parking lot spend most of our time parked or moving on the flat to enjoy, and suffer, or pass the elements without too much thought or care. After all, without a trace, what has gone on is gone.

A vertical place: Though less inhabited than the pastoral lot the incline still draws its members. For us less prone to heights and walls, cliffs, mountains, and fortress, this particular persistence is not often of our experience. Gravity is always urging us to topple over and fall. Up vertical the stakes and odds are much higher. Higher too, is a climb to art. Though, no doubt, dangling from the vertical already is.

Takeshi TAMAI makes photographic works from his climbs. He is a rock-climber. The north side of Complex building which houses Roentgenwerke is white--no great charm of white, though within the mundane, the performative and spree, combined with the dazzle for large scale, the north wall, for all sense and purposes, can be called a painting. Tamai is the one who made this cover and while doing so made some gestures towards art. Inside Complex and in Roentgenwerke the walls and floor edge a view of an installation combining bits and pieces, offerings resembling Shinto servings, mostly exposed through a tank of photographic images each holding enough information to forget for a moment you're in a parking lot. Thinking vertical pry vistas to other lives and histories. Spirits and ghosts hover as we dangle off photographs on a Tokyo wall.