In these elegant and energetic—at times surprisingly explosive—canvases of the past quarter century, Fanny Sanín, now in her eighties, reveals an enviable confidence, authority, and control, like that of an older musician or conductor who never trembles or misses a beat, or an emeritus mathematician whose calculations result from insights hidden to the young and impetuous scholar (the comparisons to math and music here are purposeful and biographic). And as with those disciplines—such a revealing term—mundane references to observed reality, to the “circle of things,” as to boys and knapsacks, can only be distracting, and maybe just a bit ridiculous. What’s there is there.