Chetrit’s oeuvre is characterized by the overflow of life, its surplus: of emotions, experiences, a bright sexuality, boredom, babies, garments. Things in her images tend to over-signify, like the artist’s mother in Telfar, or shiny black boots pointing to domestic kinks: detours. The body’s shyest territories are exposed in layers of transparencies, like PVC pants, and film strips, only to hit resistance. It forecloses—if not only to remind that the image is just a ghost, an apparition of expectant memory and the effects of pure presence. A negative capability, to continue on the Keatsian thread: Chetrit deals in conundrums of perception and recognition. Consecutive reasoning does not help enter these works. Think instead of what spills over, splits seams, breaks apart. It’s impossible to ‘know’ an inner life.