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TO FEB. 22

Lining the walls of the rear gallery at Fusebox are four small biomorphic pods. A couple more perch on stands, and one hangs from the ceiling. Their smooth surfaces are upholstered in flocking, almost all of it chosen from a range of charcoal tones except for one that is bright orange. On another pod, pocked with froggy warts, a red LED blinks its welcome, drawing us to peek into one of the tiny portholes nearby (pictured). Inside are colorful, mood-lit mod domestic interiors, unpopulated, furnished but otherwise unappointed, all rendered in miniature, then warped into plunging depths with distorting lenses. Before we start cracking about sets for Honey, I Shrunk Lenny Kravitz, consider the perceptual turf worked by Angel Nunez, a regionally trained Spanish sculptor who started out as a painter: The pods work like frames, organizing windows that give onto fictive vistas; stereo vision, suitable for the outsides, is thwarted just when we need it most, to try to make sense of the fragmented flows of the interiors; the 360-degree space in which we customarily apprehend sculpture is broken into a number of forced, fixed points of view, from which we must reconstitute the whole. The show is, in addition, a quiet sci-fi elegy to a way of life that we somehow still feel cheated out of. Imagine the starship-terrariums of Silent Running filled not with all the Earth’s plant life—and Bruce Dern—but with all of its late-’60s design sense, departing in total sterility, a columbarium for Joe Colombo. The exhibition is on view from noon to 8 p.m. Tuesday to Saturday, to Saturday, Feb. 22, at Fusebox, 1412 14th St. NW. Free. (202) 299-9220. (Glenn Dixon)