Hot glue is just inherently nasty—the stuff of craft-making burns and unscheduled visits to the ER. Only when the translucent goo is safely inert does it become interesting, as in the 2,000 tentacles of Nascent. Suspended on wires overhead, illuminated by skylight above, Gerri Sayler's dangling installation suggests coral, icicles, and stalactites. Each delicate, twisted strand has been halted in time, cooled into curly stasis. Yet however irregular and unique each pendulous cord may be, they all hang in regular rows that undulate like sine waves that both block and accommodate your path. (The architects at Suyama have to be able to walk across the atrium, after all; and no one wants dried glue in their hair.) Visitors of a certain age may recall the beaded curtains of the '60s, though these glue strings shouldn't be brushed aside. On a clear day, the installation is interwoven with sunlight, ephemeral. Sayler's companion text says the piece is meant to suggest "thready vestiges of a nascent universe," like something that's just realized its initial form. Or, like DNA strands, this may only be the first combination of a structure that's never truly complete.