EXCERPT I’ve blocked a door with piles of paper, going out of the house isn’t a solution, breathing the air outside isn’t a solution either. I’ve cordoned off the front door with yellow police tape… —Réda Bensmaia We encounter our second isolomaniac dabbling with isolation’s relation to the concepts of the barricade and the crime. When confronting the barricade, we are struck first and foremost by the architectonics of stacking: all items become preventative forces; all solidity becomes obstructive hardness. The sentimental universe of the room, with all of its collected objects each with their separate meanings, now takes on a single unified function: to form an impenetrable obstacle…