We are inside a white space, a gallery. We feel the cold floor underfoot, the sharp glare of lights above. We glance a dear friend across the room. We are beside them now asking, How are you? Followed by the return, How are you? With quick and easy laughter, warmth passes between us, held together in comfort and security.

We consider the room and see knots and nets of many kinds-black muslin and a sparkling web, sisal and string, glinting wire; silvery woven orbs; golden frames oozing beeswax; a much-loved collection of recipes set next to a sturdy rocking chair; various multi-coloured scarves impossibly floating; the slow scooped-out hollow of a rock; several jars with things both recognizable and not; a large bag labeled "Carrier," surrounded by other bags that could double as hats; the warmth of wool transformed into small animals; suspended cork tile which once made a floor, a floor filled with footsteps, dancing too, long ago but not wholly forgotten; a nearly beating heart. All these and more can be seen holding space, holding memories, holding actions, holding time spent figuring and finding form.

To hold is to have an attachment. Prepositions, such as across, under, between, above, and inside, attach nouns to the particularities of space and time. For anthropologist Stephen Muecke, they describe "the intimacy of the with, rather than the military strategy of the about." As nouns ourselves, we understand prepositions as necessary geolocators. They announce a positionality of relationality. They ask us to be aware of others. To consider our role, our place. It's a question of having rather than being. Having relations. Having attachments. Having minds and bodies capable of holding both difficult thoughts and each other, human and otherwise.

Of hands held open.

Alex Galindo Barrones | Christie Keller | Terry Sykes Knutson | Mya Lauer | Alesi Lubchenko | Amanda-May | Derek Steeg | Danaka Stromberg