Margrethe Aanestad’s gold painting sets the stage—literally and metaphorically. Positioned as the first work a viewer encounters in the gallery, her golden circle echoes the mercury-like alien orb from the Sphere (1998)—mysterious, silent, and reflective. Like that object, her painting does not explain itself. The painted circle, rendered with precision and subtle depth, becomes a portal—an opening rather than an image. Originally from Norway, Aanestad describes her work as a space for contradiction: “the ambiguous, subtle and strong... representatives of what is universal, yet personal, in existence.” She doesn’t see her paintings as abstractions, but as containers of experience—impossible to grasp fully, but deeply experienced.

Paul Tucci’s hand-carved wall sculptures begin with blocks of wood found on the street. Sometimes he starts with a drawing, but the form is ultimately discovered through the act of carving itself. Trained as a carpenter and working with both traditional and modern techniques, Tucci approaches the material with a practiced attunement—subtracting, sanding, refining—until the object reveals what it wants to become. The resulting biomorphic forms curve and swell: sometimes like the canopy of trees, other times like the rounded contours of bubble graffiti, recalling the city surfaces they came from. It’s as if Tucci’s source imagery—trees, graffiti, the textures of the street—has been reincarnated into these organic forms, enveloped with wood, and ushered into three curved dimensions—and perhaps a fourth. The wood carries time. It carries memory.

“I’m inspired by the spontaneous marks of street art and the inherent irregularities of nature,” Tucci writes. “My focus is to unveil the profound and often overlooked beauty within these raw materials, inviting a deeper appreciation for their natural forms and textures.” In the gallery, the soft lines of his wall sculptures interact with the silver-finned walls, catching light, casting shadows—making the space itself feel pliable.

Stepping into imagined elsewheres and futures, we arrive at María Gracia Donoso’s work. Embedded within the black structural islands of the gallery, her pieces feel like discoveries in planetary craters. Born in Chile and now based in New York, Donosco approaches form as a kind of speculative archaeology. Her Suspension Ontologies ask: what emerges when perception is detached from habit, when vision follows unfamiliar logic? Donosco begins with fluid, organic drawings—ink and pigment moved by gravity, salt, and time—then processes them digitally, allowing software to transform and mutate rather than translate. The results are crystalline structures, uninhabitable cities, and fragmented topographies that hover between the earthly and the alien. “There are no stable coordinates,” she writes, “what we call space may be an illusion of continuity.” 

Donosco draws from physicist Fritjof Capra, who observed, “Every particle is not itself, but involves all the others.” Her work echoes this principle: no image or form stands alone, but is woven into a dynamic, invisible matrix. This same logic extends across the exhibition. In Unknown Entry Point, the silver-finned walls seem to transpose—the fins are no longer upright, dividing architecture, but lines of a musical score. The artworks become notes suspended across that staff, interdependent and responsive, each shaping how the others are read, felt, and understood.

Felipe Fredes continues the dialogue between art and science through a body of work that begins at the microscopic level. Born and raised in northern Chile, Fredes is an interdisciplinary visual artist and neuroscientist with a Ph.D. in Neurobiology and Cellular and Molecular Biology from the Universidad de Chile. His prints originate from brain tissue images captured using freeze fracture labeling and Transmission Electron Microscopy (TEM)—a technique that reveals structures more than 500,000 times smaller than the human eye can perceive. These subcellular craters—abstract, planetary, almost lunar—become the backdrop of his own Self Portrait (2017): an image of himself layered over an image of a brain. Fredes creates meta-images that seem to transcend the initial layer of life—suggesting consciousness not as a fixed entity, but as a constructed terrain. The portrait becomes an inquiry into perception itself: part neural map, part self. 

It’s worth noting that Fredes is the only artist in the exhibition not currently based in Greenpoint—he lives in Denmark and works from a shipping container-turned-studio, crane-lifted atop his bike shop where he makes bespoke bikes. A fitting anomaly. After all, there had to be, somewhere, an unknown entry point.