Kirstine Roepstorff’s Hidden Truth is a monument of kitsch: a billboard-sized postcard-collage celebrating the mastery of tourism over an unconquerable sublime landscape. Envisioning an estate agent’s dream of a rustic sci-fi paradise condo-ised for maximum investment, Roepstorff’s development is ruthless and ridiculous. Tower blocks nestle in virgin forests, impossibly balance in cliff faces, and teeter precariously on insurmountable summits. Hovering over the scene is a fixed oracle of nirvana, exploding with the fairytale bijou of globalisation, aligning the planets in a parody of capitalist bliss.