A photograph of a relative, purposely set face down in a drawer. A copy of Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar lying half read on a seat. An empty bottle of hair dye, discarded beside a bright-red splattered bath. A bottle of whiskey, placed on a shelf up high so nobody could immediately spot it, but precariously enough to give away the state of the person who put it there.
These objects in Fullbright’s gameography of two, Gone Home and Tacoma, speak volumes about the people who owned them. Every object in the Greenbrair’s giant Pacific-Northwestern home and the deserted space station Tacoma add to a portrait of the people who owned them, people you never meet but whose spectral presence haunt you as the credits roll.