Will Kaplan's studio, before the fire, was brimming with dusty rows of books — Encyclopedia Britannicas, National Geographics, rogue equipment manuals, a soupçon of philosophy, theatre, liturgical texts, and rare vintage gems. All foxed, dog-eared, beaten into pulp by time. How to make sense of all this information, these diagrams, this knowledge? Kaplan doesn't seem compelled to translate or collate; he has devised mirror-filled books of his own poetry. The proscenium of the stage opens to reveal all: the pomp of colonial subjugation, the veneer of technological glamour, the gnarl of marrow and bone. Opening Friday, July 17, 6–8pm. Artist talk with Caitlin Reid, Sunday, August 9 at 3pm.