Toba Khedoori's art is hybrid in nature, and locates itself between drawing, painting and installation. Her subjects are man-made places and things: doors, rooms, furniture and builidings (note: recently she has used rocks); all of them strikingly devoid of any sign of life. Although her pared down images can be likened to the big empty spaces of Ed Ruscha (without the irony), or the uninflected expanses of Vija Celmins, she is emerging as something like her generation's Agnes Martin: an artist of metaphysical refinement and restraint. Her drawings have always seemed like perfect California art, drenched in the tangible, omnipresent, transfiguring light that is Los Angeles' treasure. She places the veiwer in that strange, existential space that pervades LA—the horizon slips away, points of reference blur, spaces in between have an implacable presence and objects take on an intensity and life of their own. Khedoori sees things with the eyes of an outsider, or a stranger; everything catches her attention, nothing is normal.