In the twilight, under a veil or behind a long fringe, creatures have nested in the threshold between subject and object. “Wrapped” turns inside out, changes clothes, slips into a costume and covers up warm. It’s hairy, furry, fleshy, shiny.

A soft bandage, a healing salve to treat irritated skin under fingernails and wiggly teeth. 

In the middle of the room three sculptures stretch from ceiling to floor.

The light, transparent fabric is covered in handwritten text. One sentence is repeated “Great hair don’t care”. The original expression “Long hair don’t care” is a slogan of the hippy movement, dismissing perceived prudish and conservative attitudes of previous generations. The sculptures are under critique, by someone or something.

The angel-like sculptures are repeating the sentence as a mantra, desperate or confident. 

Great hair don’t care, great hair don’t care, great hair don’t care, great hair don’t care. 

Everyday objects undergo transubstantiation.

Three cyanotype prints depict people, animals and objects. A body imprint, a double and an assembled pack point to their interdependence of their coexistence and blur the boundaries between species.

A suit of 3D mesh drapes smoothly over the banister, following the steps down and forms a body. A trunk, a shell. The entire surface is crisscrossed with veins, flaring formations in pink with brown crusts, repeating  colors of the other artworks and the space. The suit acts as a transformer, a protector, and at the same time an accentuation of the space enclosed. The  functional fabric serves as a  padding and insulation layer, yet it is breathable and permeable, even transparent in some areas.

Creatures have settled on it: hairy fringes and snake-like bodies protrude from openings like parasitic offsprings. An object as such is lurking in the basement. Hanging over a bar, its tail is longer than its body, the flowing color shades give the synthetic fabric the appearance of fur without losing its artificiality.

By taking daily life as subject matter a series of drawings accumulate subjective environments to comment on the aesthetic of precariousness.  

A single eyeball floats and unfurls itself to reveal a golden pearl. A condensed icon of light. The entity of short glimpses manifested in a compact charm. 

An assembled zig-zag ornament lines up the bottom of the image partly left unfinished. With the implied red curtain on the left it refers back to bygone fictional mysteries. 

Beyond, hardly recognizable, the contour of a snake in a circular motion fails to complement biting its own tail forming a Ouroboros symbol.

On the back wall of the upper room a plasterwork sits on a shimmery form painted on the wall. Underneath the relief we find a bow shaped reflex. The plaster as a material comes with a metaphorical meaning, as something that immediately adapts itself to every object it encounters. What remains is an imprint of something or someone else. The mother of pearl pigment reflects the light and changes itself with the viewer moving in the room. The reflex occurs as a player which reflects the light of the other in order to protect itself. The reflection-protection of the work is enchanting and blurs out the border between charm and self defense.     

On the floor, oversized teeth rest on a shimmery fabric. It’s sculptured clay around collected cobblestones. A remark on social inequality and class struggle inspired by the process of making dentures. Cobble is a symbolic weapon in protest culture, literally the fundament of a state – paid for by its people – gets utilized to fight the disempowering authority. Loose cobblestones lining the streets all around are reminders of lost teeth. 

The loss of a tooth is a symbol for loss at large. An allegory for the creeping decay of an expiring system.

07.04 – 15.04.21



Text: Amanda Trygg, Alex Hojenski & Max Hanisch

Fotos: Jaewon Kim