Three Sides Enclosed, the Fourth Open to a Wash of the Weather
ensemble•Sep 13, 2024 — Nov 02, 2024
Similar Exhibitions
Guestbook
Press Release
The carousel spins, painted horses chasing dreams in a circle, where
the horizon folds into a never-ending now. We sit, grasping the reins
of our desires, as the calliope whispers in melodies only we can hear.
Beneath the canopy, shadows dance, and we chase the tails of our
ambitions, each turn a new world, each spin a tether to the real.
At the wishing well, pennies drop, silver dreams sinking into the abyss. We
peer over the edge, faces mirrored in ripples of what might be.
Whispers echo, soft as promises, and we cast our hopes into the depths, imagining
a world where wishes float back to us, granted in silence.
In the handbag’s depths, a space of secrets, maps to
hidden memories scrawled on scraps of yesterday. Keys, trinkets, a fragment of a song,
remnants of a self we carry, clutching our identities close, patchwork quilts
of past and potential.
Draped in the cloth of our fantasies, costumes of our becoming we...More
Exhibition Space
Links
Metadata
Claims

Three Sides Enclosed, the Fourth Open to a Wash of the Weather
ensemble•Sep 13, 2024 — Nov 02, 2024
Press Release
The carousel spins, painted horses chasing dreams in a circle, where
the horizon folds into a never-ending now. We sit, grasping the reins
of our desires, as the calliope whispers in melodies only we can hear.
Beneath the canopy, shadows dance, and we chase the tails of our
ambitions, each turn a new world, each spin a tether to the real.
At the wishing well, pennies drop, silver dreams sinking into the abyss. We
peer over the edge, faces mirrored in ripples of what might be.
Whispers echo, soft as promises, and we cast our hopes into the depths, imagining
a world where wishes float back to us, granted in silence.
In the handbag’s depths, a space of secrets, maps to
hidden memories scrawled on scraps of yesterday. Keys, trinkets, a fragment of a song,
remnants of a self we carry, clutching our identities close, patchwork quilts
of past and potential.
Draped in the cloth of our fantasies, costumes of our becoming we...More