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It seems only fitting that Samaras, whose every work alludes in some way or another to his body—by photography and metaphor, by testing it with textures and pains and memory—should have made a narcissist's mausoleum in the form of his Mirror Room: a twelve-foot cube lined with reflecting surfaces, an endless labyrinth in three dimensions. One imagines the artist at home in it, lying perfectly at ease on the crystal floor, his image multiplied to a gratifying infinity.
∎ Robert Hughes