Anything by Karen Eliot is many things. Perhaps it is an effort to lay a kind of foundation for an on-going inquiry into placeholders in various settings and mediums. Or maybe it was just a white cube made into a collection of transformed cliches of a generic waiting room, effortfully designed in shades of some basic in-between colour. Likely it was conceived as a spatial container for a never-ending and meaningless story that travels through all kinds of stuff; stuff being some sort of commodity, a body, or whatever; probably as a reflection on constant but unintentional gathering and processing of bits and pieces all around all the time. It could have also been a non-theatrical set for an untrained and unexpectant audience to perform in, leaving the so-called author as a kind of non-musical conductor, if that’s even possibly a thing. If only a transitional situation became a competent destination, maybe that’s somehow what Anything at some point wanted to be about.