Ambiguous architectural spaces occupy Vicken Parsons’s paintings; a world of passageways, corners, and dead ends. 
Some are painted from memory, while others are entirely imagined. Although all traces of human presence have been erased, they relate intimately to the body and to our physical and psychological experience of space. ‘Physical spaces’, Parsons says, ‘are parallel to mental spaces’. This relationship emerges in her handling of the thin layers of paint on their bases. Carefully deliberated lines conjure space and volume out of paint itself: Impenetrable flat colour transformed into three-dimensional space. Milky light pours into the velveteen darkness, at once defining and confusing our bearings, drawing us in. Parsons rooms are far from empty: they are vessels for feelings, memories and sensations.