Kyra Henley
Lost
10 – 26 October 2023

Works
Exhibitions
Installation views
Press release 

Nasha presents Lost, Kyra Henley’s second solo exhibition with Nasha Gallery.


Society turns in an ever-widening gyre; the falcon can no longer hear the falconer. Even if it could they would probably be some black-pilled anti-vaxx cooker trying to sell you supplements anyway. Profit is the only arrow on the compass and we are lost in the dark echoing forest of the Internet. Kyra Henley’s paintings are a document of that bewildering decline.


Horse
Equine fear roped off and drummed into a drowning sea by paid influencer handlers. The stead still shirks the bridle and wildly eyes a line of escape from these fucking gormless but well paid tools of fascism.

Lost
Befogged by vape-based lead poisoning a podcast of men try to resurrect masculinity by enacting a lost ritual of patriarchy. Unaware they are groping different parts of an elephant that never existed.

Party salads
Seeming domestic bliss but lit like torture porn. The mould floats supernaturally between her hands as a godless 70’s food monstrosity eyes the scene with its one all-seeing pimento olive. This is salad party as decorative democracy performance. Let them eat blancmange.

Swimmers
Everything is taut rigid panic and sharp anxious angles.  Not one body is relaxed even in this most giving of environs – a pool of water. Even the staccato splash seems a stifled scream. Everyone in this painting is on the verge of a panic attack/ADHD diagnosis.  

The gardener
A gardener flees in panicked terror from his own creation knowing he has taken an Eden and delivered a carpark with micro-plastic leaves.

Occasion
A refined pair emerge from the viviparous clown car of techno-fascism off to an exclusive event but a warning sign halos his head. Is there a faint smell of smoke in the air coming from the Bastille’s direction? Is Luigi two steps behind?

The devils marbles
St Greta mourns Pieta style over a sea otter sacrificed on the alter of late-capitalism while a man manages to pull focus upon himself. His manspread accented by a blaring radio and louche gesture to his (most likely very disappointing) genitals.

Hotel
A Lost Boy scales a slide the wrong way with the worst climbing gear imaginable (the only slope RMs can handle is the stadium stairs at a Wallabies match) while checked out parents watch on as their children commit pub playground beer crimes.

Business volcano
One of the ruling class’s media priests apathetically admonishes us for bringing this fresh hell-geyser of fuckery upon ourselves through inadequate sacrifice to the economy gods. C’est la economie.


These paintings are visual metaphors for our disorientated times. Kyra Henley wants you to ingest these painted sutras, use them to alchemise your soul into a solution rather than a muted witness on a zoom meeting planning our own self-destruction.




– Steven Charles William Latimer III