On the left, a dry field criss-crossed by wheel tracks. On the right, a hanging lace curtain with a red floral motif, or alternatively, if we are to believe the analysis of a nervy-looking woman who could barely look at Botha, splattered with blood. Dividing the two, a torn bit of paper with a French address written on it.
Quite what this had to do with my clue, I wasn't sure, but I made up an inane story, something to do with the lies about landscape that we tell ourselves, and how we end up by curtaining off a view we claimed to want to own. So that's the role of the art critic rather nicely lampooned as well.
The Amendments run from "1: the case of beginning at the end", to "14: the case of ending at the beginning", perhaps an indication of a Finnegans Wake-like circular narrative. On the way you pass through a variety of stations, such as "6: the case of waltzing with the moon", and "13: the case of justice as a poem".
The overt use of clues, the nomenclative constant of the phrase "the case of", and the artist's description of the way the work came to her "hovering as invisible codes on a building site, falling through a fishing net" all point towards an exhibition that demands a semiotic decoding. These works are about changing your mind, by acts of "correction, addition or deletion", as the dictionary defines amendment.
Botha describes Amendment as "a visual poem", and this is a good description. It's more low-key and opaque than some of her more tendentious shows, and the exhibition seduces with a lovely, flowing narrative journey, as much as the individual works exist as signposts over which to puzzle.