As one enters the space, the air changes first.
Nag champa. Sage. The faint illusion of burning wax.
The scent settles low and heavy, as if the room itself is breathing. The atmosphere feels dense and slow, yet charged. Fixed and fluid at once. Calm and alert. Sacred and unsettled.
This is not simply an exhibition to be viewed. It is a room to be entered with the whole body.
Continue reading “Against Erasure, Toward Presence: Anastacia-Reneé and the Labor of Care”