Lapthisophon’s use of the archive, more precisely in his thematization of the use of the archive, is particularly striking. The toner-transfer pieces in Hotel Terminus are stained, dirty and grubby, and in fact become luscious because the heavily inked pages are cleanly reproduced, leaving no marks on our hands. We are voyeurs to polluted pages that leave us unscathed, and the reproduced archived images are both brand spanking new and blissfully redundant. “The archive has always been a pledge, and like every pledge, a token of the future,” as Derrida urges in Archive Fever.