Events

The touchscreen is what we hold in our hand most often and usually the first thing we reach for right after waking up. Technology and intimacy, two traditionally antithetical areas, are nowadays interconnected, both having transformed each other. In the everyday, technology has infiltrated our privacy. It has become the object of our notion and desire, our interlocutor and crutch, but also a dangerous confidant.The exhibition deals with how, after a virtual experience, further emphasized by a pandemic situation, the concept of our privacy and intimacy has changed and what effect it has on our close relationships. Through the work of nine young artists, it questions whether further development is bound for the likes of dystopian sci-fi or whether …

« Many idealize civilization without technological intervention, while at the same time presented not as a return and nostalgia, but as a possible idyllic future… » Curated by Katya Quel Elizarova Come and discover works by amazing Artists : Aëla Maï Cabel, Tristan Gac, Vincent Caroff, Katya Quel Elizarova, Naomi Gilon, Gaspard Hers, Juliette Jaffeux, Tommy Lhomme, Llyazel 🔮 Opening 10-12-2021 🔮 Open by appointment

And now they were preparing the funeral pile, the brandished torches and the bier; but his body was nowhere to be found. In place of his body they find a flower, its yellow centre girt with white petals.”- Ovid, The Metamorphoses An end is perhaps a way of beginning, or rather connecting a space between what once was and what could be.What if the process of transformation was not a finite act, but a state of becoming? A space where one could hold within themselves the multiplicity of both the before and the after, not simply a state of transition, …

Vase. Orb. Diadem. Globe. Shield. Sculpture. Handle. Bracket. Packet. Capsule. Trinket. Tread. Kit. Amy Brener’s “Pinnacles” would suggest we had reached some summit, and from there, might have a view. Look around, survey. A procession of single-colored objects in double file, poised on the floor and adorning the walls—lead us to a polychrome “altar,” less stable in shape than its acolytes. Beyond, a stair to a basement; two hanging “garments” dressing this lower room. Not for us, already embodied, self-embodied, wearing themselves, disembodied, captured angels? These sculptures, mostly titled Omni-Kits and Flexi-Shields, could be called vestments, furniture, and architectural ornaments; …

It goes off—like a pop, like a laugh, a sneeze; like an orgasm; like a little explosion, an overflow. Its telling says, I am here."- Susan Sontag, The Volcano Lover We were all somewhere once.Present in the rawest form of time.The kind that rushes in.And leaves you gently swaying.You fool! You’ve been had.There really can be no forecasting for a somewhere.And once it’s passed, everything in its wake is a sorry souvenir.A reflection. A husk.A ‘new memory for you, today’.Backed up onto a stony cold drive.When I told my story, I sold it away. Did I make it clearer or …