Within Kaleidoscope, a gallery inside an event space next to a home, lies GLUTTON: a collection of works, discordant in exterior some, and hive-minded in their mission, other. A Neo-gothic villa confined to the streets of not quite Ridgewood, not quite Bushwick. And it’s hot in here. Is the AC even on? We ask out loud to the six foot tall water-glass and chain dolphin we find ourselves beak-to-beak with, sweet, guttural sounds coming out of its boated neck. We realize it’s not us speaking, but Clarice Lispector’s uncouth run in with another wild thing ringing in our ears: “Its eyes were radiant and black. The eyes of a bride. The fringed, dark, dustless and living eye. And the other eye was the same.” Earth Ængel’s dolphin doesn’t have any (visible) eyes, but it’s no matter. It elicits, and beckons and brings rancid breath near, the not sub-human, but non-human– the other. Some may recognize Wangechi Mutu in the sculptures' shiny mottled folds, or in its obstinance. Dolphin Gurlz, like Mutu, doesn’t see the floor as anything but potable life source, and in so, screams at the top of its lungs, asking for more. Huzzah! Keeping Dolphin Gurl company, epic Beowulf enjoyers, rejoice and collapse into Jonathan Pinchera weblike structure or nebulous sap: there’s multiple points in this room of GLUTTON on which to impale yourselves, though, on closer inspection, they’re more of a docile suggestion, doubling as your Nonny’s doily perched on her thinning scalp for high holidays, or the Nonny Hogrogian’s Armenian children’s book that lulled so many away from spiders and into slumber. Darning, crushed mussel shells, scraps. Material response here remains key. Jonathan seeks to emulate architecture’s expediency, where the function of the medium is merged with its implication. Stuffed with byproducts of its own creation, a second stomach of a cow. We are wrangled in but kept alive, floating headless in a pool of mythological alliteration, mining our surroundings. Except then we are flung back into reality, perverting nature with dahlias and oxidizing calatheas mimicking a skeletal structure, suffocating John Dillard and River Valadez’s glasswork. It’s holding hands on Catherine Opie’s back, dribbles of blood softly making their way down a curved nape. This opening is for breathing life into our surroundings, and into Healing our Homeland. We are rejoicing around a table, and recoiling at the empty seats of those who cannot join us. Eating our own, à la A Modest Proposal. These organizers provide direct aid and support for Palestinians in Gaza & in Egypt. We are healing by tilling the land after air raids, clothing bare soles of feet, and filling mouths with flavors. By smiting the Western powers that live inside us all, by honoring the non-human and human, by sharing art with loved ones, by having conversations, by laughing, cursing, stubbing a toe and feeling a rush of blood leave our brains and run to that extremity, with a sudden sense of urgency, to heal. For more information or visuals, please contact kaleidoscope.gallery.bk@gmail.com