NEON CIRCLE

Left: Carsten Höller's Neon Circle, 2001, as sketched by Troy's Work Table
Right: Carsten Höller's Neon Circle, 2001, as sketched by the child

The compulsion of the child is to run around me, counter-clockwise, each time we enter the circle. It doesn't matter where in the circle I stand—dead center, off-center—the compulsion is the same. I grab her occasionally to halt her movement. She stops, even though I can feel the tension in her body. She needs to run, to circle me. I release her and she runs. And runs. And runs.

I grab her hand and pull her out of the circle. Once outside, she no longer runs. We return to the circle and she runs, always counter-clockwise. Ritual? Protection? Gravitational pull? Centrifugal force?

---

The "white" tubing flashes. Tubes alternate their pulse. One, then the next. One, then the next, then the next. One on, one off. Half of the neon circle is always on. Half is always off. Yet, it appears that they overlap. Soon, it is hard to determine that they are even flashing—the rhythm becomes so fixed that it focuses my breath, my pulse, the blinking of my eyes. The flashing is hypnotic.

I see blue and pink columns of neon. The child sees green and orange.

---

The descriptive plaque on the wall speaks a foreign language: "Gestalt psychology," "phi phenomenon," "multi-stability," "ambiguous spatial perceptions." These words and phrases mean little to me, less to the child. I am compelled to research them, to learn more. The child is compelled to run inside the circle—a moon to my planet to the Neon Circle's universe.