It’s easy to lose a sense of enchantment with art: galleries, museums, McMansions collecting, indexing, stamping nebulous icons, once alive material unfoldings pinned to the wall like dead insects; anatomical shadows of encounters and struggles that defined an ever-fluctuating umwelt.

Hippocrene Runs Dry subverts this phenomenon, telling a story about depletion through an exposition that consists only of an ending; all events prior inferred from a chaotic (but clearly not random) scattering of limbs and musculature possessed by a majestic engine that pushed itself to the point of catastrophe. This ending is not a frozen image but an ongoing denouement that one traverses in real-time; its passage marked by prosthetics, each with their own characteristic morphogens, that seem to grow from ossified flesh at speeds too slow for us to register.

This quasi-geological sense of time, casts the artifacts strewn about 17 Essex not as inert objects but as a single collective inertia.

Amidst endless apparitions of our neurotic fixation on the possibility of an instantaneous apocalypse, a bang as opposed to a whimper; Yasmin Kaytmaz offers the viewer a chance to meditate on the inseparability of growth from decay, and by extension life’s relentless capacity for invention and renewal.