Theta hosts Kelsey Isaacs’s first solo—oil paintings born from plastic, rhinestones, and translucent scraps staged in her studio shower, photographed under flashlight, then rendered with exacting doubt. Trompe-l’oeil frays into freer stroke; shiny trivia becomes excavation. Between photorealism and abstraction, fidelity coincides with estrangement: near-still lifes of glitz that refuse easy value.
