At the back of the space, Dennis erects a scaled version of her dreamy fort. Shrouded by a simulated night sky (the walls and ceiling of the gallery have been blacked out), her corrugated house, outfitted with a single bare-bulb, looks like a ghostly lighthouse. As one approaches the sculpture, the darkness thickens and becomes increasingly disorienting. The deprivation of light immediately heightens the viewer’s other senses; as one moves closer, the details come into focus. Illuminated by the light, one can make out the miniscule front entrance, which even if you were petite enough to squeeze through you’d need the key, the metal door is protected by an unmarked lock. Falling somewhere between a dollhouse and a tree house, Dennis’s sculpture has a childlike whimsy that defies its foreboding shadows.