Epílogos is a group exhibition that presents the whispers, echoes, and remnants of an event—or perhaps the possibility of a forthcoming event whose traces we can already sense. The works exist in a kind of suspended limbo, somewhat akin to the messianic time Giorgio Agamben describes as “the particular conjunction of memory and hope, past and present, fullness and deficiency, origin and end.”

Whether through the twilight, unsettling universe of Roger Ballen or the monumental architecture of Ola Kolehmainen, destiny seems marked by an invisible occurrence. Human figures have disappeared or become anecdotal, absorbed by vast spaces whose outdated functionality gives way to a feeling of an ended party. This is seen, for example, in Bea Sarrias’s The Party is Over, where the gigantic stairs of Casa Malaparte seem to lead nowhere, or in Mathieu Pernot’s ironically titled The Best of All Worlds, featuring silhouettes of children surrounded by depressing buildings.

The echoes of emptiness here are silent—the shattered ruins of fragile utopias, as seen in the cracked bricks of Oscar Abraham Pabón and his references to Wittgenstein House and Yves Klein’s Void. The exhibition navigates between symbolic expressionism and visual minimalism, constructing ever-unpredictable narrative possibilities, left somehow in suspense.

Yago Hortal’s abstract lines blur the difference between origin and end (Il Trovatore), exploring the ambivalent creative/destructive potential of mark and gesture. A dichotomy of color, fullness, and emptiness is also found in Taj Forer’s sleds. What are they doing there? Are they abandoned, or yet to be used? The same ambiguity exists in Bea Sarrias’s strange uninhabited house, seemingly haunted by ghosts, where the First Meeting announced in the title never occurs.

The result can be seen as an absurd and ironic portrait of humanity, like the apathetic reclining figure with a useless plug hanging above it in Roger Ballen’s Inmate, or as nature’s vengeful return with the appearance of fish-like (or critical?) figures and a hidden rat. Anthony Goicolea’s Ruins in the Forest recalls the famous plot and temporal twist concluding the epilogue of Planet of the Apes, leaving us unsure whether what we see is what awaits us or the ruins of what has already passed.

A cinematic undercurrent runs through the exhibition—Godard, the sled that ends Citizen Kane—embodied by the figure of little Ingmar playing chess. A possible game against death—a reference to The Seventh Seal—against time, capturing that sense of existential nostalgia and bittersweet uchronia that these ambiguous epilogues emanate.