Ha-Ha (Ah Ah, Ah-ha, Foss, Fosse, Ha ha, Ha! Haw): Sunken fence, blind fence, ditch and fence, deer wall or foss.

Ha-ha is a French word for an impasse. Ha-ha is a recessed landscape design element that doesn’t obscure one’s view. Ha-ha, as a word, is quite literally named for the interjection upon encountering the obstruction of a ditch. Ha-ha! you’re below, or ha-ha! you’re above. Ha-ha there’s a barrier!

A ha-ha place has an effect of coming-up-against, minus a physical presence to bump into. As any fence, it operates as a defense mechanism, it produces blockages and controls movement. A fence is also a support: it keeps the livestock from roaming too far, enforces boundaries and concretizes relationships between those on either side. Bodies penetrate walls through doors (sanctioned) and holes (illicit), probe their fingers into mail slots and between slats. A garment can be thought of as a wall between the body and the outside world, a conscious masquerade of the self. A ribbon becomes a temporary barrier, whether cut to reveal a ceremony or hinged on a picture to commemorate. History too is a fence: it keeps us in our lanes, too many conflicting narratives make it hard to remember if you’re above or below, or fallen in a ditch.

Los Angeles, a place whose hills are lined with infinity pools, or water ha-has, also houses this ha-ha of Leroy’s, nestled into the base of Hill & Ord St, and entered by descending stairs below grade. Leroy’s presents a nested trinity of not’s: the not-restaurant reveals a not-bar, which, in turn, functions as a not-gallery. Here, for the time being, are works by Tanya Brodsky, Merideth Hillbrand and Ellen Schafer. The works in the exhibition emerged largely through informal conversations between the artists, held across walls that enclose the live and workspaces that they have occupied together. This exhibition is not about commonwealth barriers, nor land demarcation, haha.