The moment of loss, as philosopher Walter Benjamin put it, is the moment when a life can assume a transmissible form. Two collections of national import: the Corcoran Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. and Galería el Laberinto in San Salvador, El Salvador. I stepped into them at a break in their existences, the time between the thing and the memory of it. Their two histories are woven through politics, war, immigrations and great works of art. And after having been a student and advocate of them both, through me. I sat before a judge in D.C. begging to save the Corcoran from dissolution and ran pots and pans under dozens of leaks threatening delicate works on paper in El Salvador. Because of the chaos around these upheavals my small role in it all was imbued with an authority I might not possess. And so I found myself in the cutting, folding and coloring portion of making a legacy — the ever inchoate presence that is a legacy. Something which is gone is also here. These photographs sit in the loss, urgency and yes, the sentimental, which in its defense is all tied up in our elementary sense of justice. Here is the the recovery, the making of memory and a question about that most fragile of human agreements, trust.