Pseuds Corner
The viewer gets caught up in all the roaring, spilling, snaggling details, and you begin to wonder about your own boundaries, the body’s beginnings and its endings. The closer you get to [Nnena] Kalu’s endless sinewy trails of old VHS tape, their spews of filigree plastic webbing, their bound-up, sometimes cable-tied suturings, the harder it is to know where their forms stop and the space around them begins. Their containment is precarious. So full of life and energy, you think they might burst.