The basement can be said to be the unconscious of a building. As a psychoanalytic metaphor it's often used that way, to paint a picture of the brains foundational but pressed down urges and impulses. In this case, the basement includes a pair of identical, and later ripped out toilets. What that says about the psychology of this late 70s office building is hard to say, but lying there, pressed down under the ventilation shaft, the toilets seem to emanate a strong presence. Is it a coincidence that the toilets are doubled, like two sides of a brain? A less conspiratorial mind would easily draw conclusions about operational hierarchy. The arse and mouth are connected via a long pathway through the body, but what about the arse and brain? Was the human residue left here the electric impulses stimulating the thought process of this particular place? 

There is no shortness of human residue here now, either. Even a city as clean as Stockholm needs to hide away its logistics somewhere, to keep the wheels of commerce going. In that way the area in general might play the psychological part of the basement, on the scale of the city. There is, as of yet, no system without leakage, and here the inevitable surplus of the machine that is Stockholm lay sprinkled. Discarded office furniture swell and leak their innards on the sidewalk, shipboard expand from the moist and slough of its laminate skin. Containers overflowing with vegetables become giant jars of sauerkraut in the blazing July sun. Here, the dust and sound of traffic, and not least the stone crusher, infiltrate the eyes, ears and air. An unavoidable noise of logistics. Explicitly or not this informs the practice of the many artists that rent out studios in the building, some of which participate in Grå Materia.