This Condition, named after a short text by Lydia Davis. This Condition might be stirred by anything opening, anything dripping, anything tightening or filling, anything coming out of anything else. Infact it could be your very presence in the gallery which provokes this condition, be you man or woman, fat or thin, naked or dressed, or it may be the sounds you make which arouse it; your soft cry or grunt or indeed your movements; your figure slipping in and out of the doorway, your hand searching in your purse, alighting on someone's shoulder or stroking the smooth white walls of the gallery with it's curved corners. C?ould they be little indents in the platitude of our existence?