Nancy Lupo Final Closet

31 Ottobre - 20 Dicembre, 2025

We built the final closet, not really we, you built it. It covers almost the whole wall with room for two rows of shirts plus a shelf on the bottom for shoes. There will be another whole part above but that will come later. On the right, there are five or six drawers and more shelves above. The outside is white, or a kind of grey white but the inside is raw MDF. It’s off-gassing but hopefully it goes away in time. I don’t want my life to have this chemical-ey smell but in the bigger picture it does feel like I could be alive here for longer.

You told me about the simple wooden box with its cheap and unglorious gold tone latch. And now here we are watching as this box gets put into another box. The outermost box is made of marble and looks like a miniature sarcophagus. The lid has its own attached adhesive strip. Actually it’s really thick, a snake-like epoxy seal to keep an airtight boundary forever.

Is this death or just hibernating? Not earthbound this, not mammalian. I was telling you not to let things become but rather float, or hover, suspended in the moment before, not en route to anywhere really.

You said they wait for the winds.

At dinner last night there were some very proud Europeans who would never go to America ever again except meow meow there they go. The ol’ kamikaze death cult still has a lot of life left. And also Little Richard, and never forget. Caravaggio was long ago.

I have a vision of us floating horizontally in velvety black space. Our arms, legs, hair and clothes are flapping and flailing but not wildly, only as if we were caught in a sludgely eddy on a wide river. Our features are smooth and childlike. Our rounded rectangular mouths are agape. Our big eyes bat long eyelashes with lots of jewellike glare. Surrounding us from all directions are thin and hollow spears of light. As one of these cosmic bucatinis penetrates my body, it takes a part of me into you and then takes part of you, which still has parts of me, and shoots it out into the universe. I tell you I belong to this void while we know you belong to the world.

Here we are absorbing the end of something. The shutters are down so it’s blurry but outside it’s hot and very, very, obliteratingly bright.

Grief is psychedelic. I think that’s what I would say. A long and drawn out limbo. The Hanged Man. Reverse hallucinations on the inland ice sheet. If you don’t see something that’s there, then you miss life but if you can see things that aren’t there then you go way past go.

You ask what, then, this is? A hunk of something compressed and folded under the weight of its own accumulating skin. It took form only in retrospect. I show you The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa. I keep saying, I wish there was some sort of third thing.

words by

Nancy Lupo

Opening: 31 Ottobre

(6pm—12am)

10 Novembre - 20 Dicembre

Lunedì - Martedì (3pm—6pm)

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Via Giuseppe Barbaroux, 5H

10122 Torino (TO)