Title: “Please Do Not Interact With The Art (Except When You Must)”

Year: 2025

Medium: A velvet rope (dangling), a sensor-activated alarm (too sensitive), 37 ambiguous objects (deliberately fragile), a security guard (overly involved).

Dimensions: Shifts depending on transgressions.

“Please Do Not Interact With The Art (Except When You Must)” is a rigorous examination of boundaries, authority, and the fine line between passive observation and inevitable catastrophe. The installation consists of 37 objects placed throughout the gallery space, their arrangements echoing both order and an accident waiting to happen. Each object teeters just slightly, as if placed in mild defiance of gravity.

A single velvet rope hangs in the middle of the room, unattached to anything, useless yet present.

An omnipresent sign warns: PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH THE ARTWORK.

However, hidden motion sensors trigger a piercing alarm if a visitor steps too close—the definition of too close fluctuating wildly. Some experience the siren from metres away. Others only realize they’ve transgressed when a security guard appears, shaking their head in quiet disappointment.

Adding to the confusion, select objects are labeled: “PLEASE INTERACT.”

But these labels are written in faint, barely legible text and are placed facing the wall.

Visitors must decide: To interact, or not? To test the system, or submit to its unseen logic? The security guard watches. The alarm waits. The velvet rope sways ever so slightly in the artificial breeze.

“We accept authority without question until it contradicts itself. Then we are lost.”

— Davos

This work centres around institutional critique, performative obedience, and the aesthetics of control. With “Please Do Not Interact With The Art (Except When You Must)”, Davos weaponizes the fundamental rules of gallery etiquette, turning the act of looking into an act of risk.

The installation’s tension lies in its inconsistencies. The velvet rope—normally a symbol of separation—offers no clear division. The alarm enforces an invisible yet arbitrary boundary. The security guard, rather than preventing infractions, appears only after they occur, his silent reproach more unsettling than any verbal warning.

And then, of course, there are the 37 objects themselves. Are they art? Are they props? Are they traps? No one knows for sure. The only certainty is that, at some point, someone will set off the alarm.

Visitor Guidelines:

• Do not touch the artwork. (Unless you must.)

• The security guard cannot answer your questions. He is part of the piece.

• If you hear the alarm, assume it was your fault.

• If you do not hear the alarm, assume you have missed the point.

Price: £785,000 (includes objects, alarm system, and an ongoing agreement with the security guard).

Limited Edition Artifact: A signed PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH sign (edition of 14), available for £120,000 each.

Critics’ Reactions:

•“A brutal interrogation of institutional control. I have never been so afraid of an alarm.”

• “Davos forces us to question the nature of permission. I was reprimanded three times, and I deserved it.”

• “I did not touch the art. And yet, I still feel guilty.”

With “Please Do Not Interact With The Art (Except When You Must)”, Davos invites us into a paradox: a space where we are simultaneously free and restricted, where we follow the rules until we realize—too late—that we’ve already broken them.

Please Stop Naming Things

Five untitled objects (various materials), laminated labels (blank), an interactive naming station (non-functional), and a recorded apology.

Please Stop Naming Things is an urgent plea against categorisation, a direct confrontation with language’s futile attempt to impose order onto the unordered. The installation consists of five completely unidentifiable objects, each placed on its own pristine white plinth. They resist classification. They are not sculptures, nor are they functional. They are simply there, refusing to confirm or deny their own purpose.

Each plinth features a laminated museum-style label beneath it. The labels are blank.

At the far end of the gallery, visitors encounter what appears to be an interactive station labeled Name this Object. It consists of a touchscreen and a keyboard, inviting participants to define what cannot be defined. However, the touchscreen does not respond. The keyboard is not plugged in. The act of naming has been made impossible.

A soft voice plays over hidden speakers every six minutes. It simply says, “We’re sorry, but that name is already taken.”

“A thing does not need a name to exist. It does not need a category to matter. A chair is only a chair because someone pointed at it and said so. What if we stopped pointing?”

— Davos

This work operates in the liminal space between language and objecthood. Taking cues from minimalist sculpture, conceptual negation, and the failures of taxonomy, Please Stop Naming Things refuses to participate in the viewer’s desperate need for identification.

The five objects—made of unspecified materials—offer no clues to their origins or intended use. Are they industrial remnants? Sculptural gestures? Forgotten tools? Each visitor arrives with their own assumptions, only to be confronted with a complete lack of confirmation. The interactive naming station, a cruel mirage of participation, heightens the frustration. The recorded apology, played at irregular intervals, taunts those who attempt to impose meaning.

It is unclear whether the apology is sincere.

• The touchscreen is non-functional. No amount of pressing will change this.

• If you feel an overwhelming urge to classify what you see, please sit with that feeling until it passes.

Price: £540,000 (includes all five objects, blank labels, and a certificate that simply states “It Exists.”)

The Last Frame is Yours

Medium: 127-hour single-channel video, involuntary audience participation, signed NDAs, mandatory reflective silence.

Screening Format: 16K digital projection, no subtitles.

Runtime: 5 days, 7 hours, 12 minutes. No intermissions.

The Last Frame is Yours is not a film. It is a commitment, a test, a sentence. At 127 hours in length, the piece obliterates the notion of passive spectatorship, demanding total submission from its audience. Gallery-goers must sign a waiver before entering, acknowledging their understanding that no one is permitted to leave until the final frame has been seen.

The film’s structure is elusive: a meandering collage of unedited security footage, flickering landscapes filmed at one frame per hour, actors reading novels in languages they don’t understand with deliberate hesitation, and entire stretches of black screen where the only soundtrack is the lo-res recording of a someone filling a car with petrol. At irregular intervals, a clock appears, but it does not tell the time.

Viewers are provided with a single, numbered blanket and a deliberately uncomfortable chair. Meals are served in near silence, consisting of a thin broth and dry crackers, a menu devised in collaboration with sleep deprivation researchers. At night (though time loses meaning quickly), pre-recorded voices murmur speculative reflections on the nature of endings, though it is never clear who is speaking.

Davos insists the audience must earn the final frame. Only those who endure the full experience are granted the right to see it. What happens in the last moment remains unknown—viewers sign an NDA and are forbidden from discussing it outside the screening.

Artist Statement:

“This work is a short film that I have worked on whilst researching my magnum opus, a 300 hour feature filmed on Hampstead Heath called Fred Astaire goes to Space.”

— Davos

Curator’s Notes:

This work is the culmination of a career-long investigation into the intersection of time, endurance, and the collapse of voluntary engagement. With The Last Frame is Yours, he transcends conventional filmic expectations, creating a piece that is at once cinematic, sculptural, and carceral.

Drawing from the durational legacies of Warhol’s Empire and Douglas Gordon’s 24 Hour Psycho, but stripping away the safety of optional departure, Davos forces the viewer into a state of radical submission. The fluctuating pace—sometimes glacial, sometimes violently abrupt—mirrors the psychological erosion of captivity, though unlike most imprisonment, this is one the audience has chosen.

The final frame, withheld until total surrender, serves as both punishment and reward. Those who reach it emerge transformed, though no one can say exactly how.

Visitor Guidelines:

• Once admitted, attendees may not leave until the screening is complete.

• Bathroom breaks are allowed, but must be taken in silent, single-file procession, monitored by a gallery attendant.

• No external timekeeping devices are permitted. Phones must be left outside.

• At the end of the screening, attendees are required to sit in silent reflection for one hour before departure.

Price: £1,750,000 (includes blanket, numbered certificate of completion, and exclusive access to a single still from the final frame).

Limited Edition Prints: A series of five images from indeterminate points in the film, titled You Were Here, But When?, is available for £250,000 each.

Critics’ Reactions:

• Sally Quant: “A relentless, unforgiving masterpiece.”

• Michel Downton: “Davos has done what no filmmaker has dared: he has made time itself the antagonist.”

The Torquay Guardian: “I lasted 84 hours before I broke and was carried to A and E on a passing window-cleaner’s ladder. I can never know what I missed. This will haunt me forever.”

The Last Frame is Yours is not a film you watch. It is a film you survive.