‘For people who find television too slow’ centers around a found parable documenting the misadventure of two Tibetans during the mid-Twentieth Century. Six new drawings, based upon appropriated and edited archival objects, present a series of false images that reflect documented inaccuracies and unguided, speculative narratives.

The exhibition is accompanied by a new text,‘Faces and Face-Like Things’, by Mitch Speed.

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Against Capture is a group exhibition investigating the materiality and dramaturgy of images. Through drawing, sculpture, sound and moving-image, we are inducted into alternative ways of seeing that disrupt the seamless logic of photography. The works in the show explicate the ontology of images and the capacity of material to act as witness, navigating the captive realities of surveillance, incarceration and capitalist extraction. They invoke fugitivity and intimacy as tactics against capture.

As part of Against Capture, a temporary darkroom has been installed in the space. EMBASSY is running a series of free workshops alongside the exhibition, including sessions on printing with sustainable materials, contact printing, a reading group and a writing workshop. More information can be found on our website.

Rosalind Duguid is an artist and writer based in London. She is interested in how we live amongst the photographs we create, and the material cost of images’ production of emotions. She graduated from a BA at Newcastle University and is currently studying at the Royal Academy Schools.

Rik Higashikawa is a multidisciplinary artist who works across experimental moving image, text and site-specific collaborative interventions. Moving between the language of these media they aim to generate surprising moments of interplay between different forms of meaning-making, often misusing and misinterpreting a media’s tools or protocols. In this way, errors, solecisms and the element of surprise are central motivators in their practice. Rik’s work situates itself in the unstable and shifting divide between the empirical and the poetic.

Annabel Moodie is a mixed-media filmmaker based in Scotland whose work explores human relationships with plants and the non-human world as a form of everyday resistance to structural violence. Working primarily with DIY 16mm processes, she examines where rational and magical thought collide, seeking to reveal alternative ways of knowing. Her background in anthropology informs her research-driven practice. She has participated in residencies with Alchemy Film and Moving Image, Casa do Xisto, and Baltic Analog Lab. In 2023, the Scottish Documentary Institute commissioned her film Friends on the Outside, which received a Scottish BAFTA nomination.

Kate Paul is an artist and writer based in Glasgow. Her work with text, audio, facilitation, and performance has been exhibited with NoBounds Radio, Radio Buena Vista, Fieldnotes, Presse Books, NTS Radio, Hot Potato Magazine, Phytology, Ruskin School of Art, South London Gallery, Market Gallery, the ICA, and Conditions Studio Programme. She makes collaborative writing and performance events with noï neneh and Roya Zahra Shadmand, for which they have been awarded the Passaporta Jacques de Decker Prize for 2026. Her recent solo exhibition at Listen Gallery in Glasgow was called Whatever is Called the World (38 min 28 sec), and concerned rescue, dependency, decorative vernaculars, and live performance.

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Installation view, Emma Obrietan, Artist’s Relief, 5b, Glasgow, 2026.

 

 

 

Installation view, Emma Obrietan, Artist’s Relief, 5b, Glasgow, 2026.

 

 

 

5b presents Artist’s Relief, an exhibition by Hamburg-based artist Emma Obrietan. A text by art historian and curator Paul Pieroni accompanies the work.

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List of works:

father&son&father&son&father&son&father&son&father&son&father&son&father&son – 2026, Cement-based composite, steel, silicone rubber, glass, gravel.

Visions of Arcadia I, 2026, scenic paint on canvas

Eald Gods: Melancholia, 2025, Jesmonite & silicone rubber.

Eald Gods: Neurasthenia, Jesmonite & silicone rubber

Sketch for Cecil J. Sharp’s 100 English Folk Songs, 2026, Audio, Duration 60mins

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A cabaret with a nocturnal electricity, a carnival abounding with popular joy, a talk show with extremes that are as funny as they are caustic, a falsely candid fable, and a nightmarish spin on the fairy tale: these are some of the aesthetic universes that the Magasin CNAC will be conjuring up for its next exhibition devoted to Julie Béna, which has its vernissage on October 3, 2025.

PARODIE is the first major exhibition of Julie Béna’s art in France. Bringing together a significant body of work created between 2015 and the present day, the exhibition at the Magasin CNAC will showcase a decade of extraordinary creativity while tracing the evolution of the French artist’s career.

A vast selection of works will transform the Magasin CNAC into a space inhabited by characters, sometimes imaginary creations and sometimes embodied by Julie Béna herself. They seem to have emerged from evanescent, transient realms. There is the world of the carnival with its burlesque overtones and popular appeal, or the nocturnal world where the unconscious, fantasies, and dreams—often joyfully emancipatory, occasionally verging on the nightmarish—intermingle. The PARODIE exhibition is a mischievous exploration of the uncertain contours of truths that both it disrupts and reinvents. The exhibition exists at the crossroads of the personal and the political as it comes to life around us and within us. The identities and imagined characters that hide behind the masks suggest a form of introspection that the artist embraces with humour, derision, and exaggeration. Cabaret and fairy tales, which are regular inspirations for her imagery, use allegory and hyperbole to express opinions about social or political conditions. In a similar manner, the real and fantastical merge in Julie Béna’s world.

The project will unfold in the art centre’s historic building, its galleries, and its iconic space known as the “Rue” or “Street”. For this project, Julie Béna is responding to the identity and architecture of the building, notably the Rue, the vast interior hall under the glass roof that is highly symbolic of the street as a public space. This becomes all the more relevant in the context of the artist’s work, which has been nourished by her experiences performing for the travelling theatre during her childhood and her profound relationship with performance art. Her creations reveal an intimate side while reflecting on inner personalities and cellular family dynamics. These works also provoke a collision with universal figures that are emblematic of the public sphere and the media universe, such as Shirley Temple.

While the exhibition takes a retrospective look at the artist’s career as it considers almost ten years of Julie Béna’s creative practice, it is also an invitation for her to take ownership of the site and transform its spaces with new works designed specifically for the occasion. This will be the first time that such an extensive and eclectic selection of her art, in all of its diverse scales and different mediums, will be presented to the public.

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Headmistress presents Headmistress @ CUTS – a long established icon of Soho culture and an active salon operating on 41 Frith Street. The show’s inaugural night on 22nd November had an opening party in collaboration with Patterns. 

This group show comprises of photography, drawing and painting. Featuring work from Artists; Furmaan Ahmed, Mariette Pathy Allen, Paul Becker, Layla D’Angelo, Matt Gess, Lizzie Klein, Patrick McAlindon, France-Lise McGurn, Stuart McKenzie and Allegra Pedretti.

Headmistress’ next presentation will take place in March – location to be announced. 

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Victor Jaenada 

ÁRBOLES

 

Among the criteria used to determine what makes flamenco what it is and where it comes from, there are considerations of a social, historical, territorial, biological, and ethnic nature. Its origins are mysterious, but its identity is clear. Although its branches extend in multiple, slightly different directions, the set of practices and expressions that inhabit this denomination follow a lineage and share an undeniable destiny. Its sameness is obvious, even as it is impossible to trace back. Flamenco, as a field of study, presents definitional difficulties—just as art does. Taxonomies, in any discipline, are applications of order to a mass that appears to be connected by certain points, which the system that arranges them turns into common characteristics, and therefore into ways of understanding the elements that make up its categories. 

The family tree is the diagram of the science of ancestry, an attempt to fix the evolution of things—families, races, knowledge—in a linear, historical, cumulative, and hierarchical way. In the roots, origins are incalculable and linked to the earth1, to the enigmatic motives that make beings grow. In the branches, possibilities open up, heterogeneity arises, and mixture with external agents occurs. The pure form of the tree becomes distorted: to maintain the archetypal silhouette, pruning is required—a blade that cuts off deviating branches and prevents deformation. With the insertion of a graft, a tree can bear lemons and oranges at the same time: still belonging to the citrus family, it can suddenly become a lemon tree, an orange tree, and both trees at once. 

The logic of flamenco is a strict yet porous system, which sets limits and categories upon a mud of unfathomable yet undeniable origin—of malleable character and oral tradition—slippery to academic bias. The canons (the “palos”, the “cantes”, the modalities, the verses that repeat within them) are of lineages and influences studied from different perspectives and under different lenses, producing conclusions that sometimes coincide and sometimes differ. Its manifestations (the singing, the dance, the ritual, and the multiple cultural forms within or adjacent to what we outline as flamenco) and its modes of identification are expressions of individual and collective beings that persist and mutate in equal measure. 

Taxonomy is nothing more than the science of understanding—the art of systematizing. The logic of a system is the order we spread over the chaos present in all things. Víctor Jaenada finds a mirror in the logic of flamenco, because he operates with the awareness that his action is a reproduction of all preceding gestures—all that has been painted, all that has been said about what has been painted—while also appearing as a new genetic combination: belonging to the impossible tree of the genealogy of art. To act is always to act within certain limits, within structures in which the singular appears at a given moment, like the “cantaor”’s own voice rising when he shapes the verses according to his own emotion and experience—and thereby altering the listeners’ understanding who, with that particular cry, form a new notion of what flamenco is, and opening possibilities for the “cantaores” who will later come to use his expression as part of a constantly renewed tradition. 

The plasticity of flamenco, or plastic flamenco, or art as song — are ways of speaking about the discipline that is built through its making. A methodology in motion, it is made by performing the renewal of the very system that defines it, infinitely, up to the present. The dialogue that arises by incorporating all voices in the act of finding one’s own voice exists in life and art just as it does in the transition within flamenco “from “mimicry” (the representation of another’s personality, while maintaining one’s own) to “ilinx”, or the loss of one’s own personality—letting it drift and savoring the feeling of being guided, dominated, possessed by external forces—until the moment one decides to end the consented confusion,2” in the intoxicating effect of the search for ecstasy and balance through practice. 

Jaenada’s balance is a mobile made of a twisting trunk, spun in complex filigree. The inverted tree turns classification upside down and inside out, stops functioning, and becomes suspension. It moves by a motor—a delicate machine that, like a windmill, drags curious findings in its circular path. Hanging like leaves are hundreds of objects of different categories: organic, artificial, sticks, glass, ceramic tags, trunks, mirrors, beehives, wasps, keychains, metal tubes, common words, proper names, and carved wood3. It moves because definitions are never fixed—because depending on where you look at the tree from, it shows you one face or another of its passage through time: typologies or people, a swarm of footnotes. Trees made of glass, trees made of metal, trees made of clay, trees made of tree. 

— Sira Pizà, 2025 

 

1 In Feet Against Geography, Notes on Flamenco in its Passage through Portbou, Ed. Athenaica, 2021, p. 174, Pedro G. Romero discusses George Didi-Huberman’s analysis of the earth churned by the dancer’s feet, referencing Walter Benjamin. Earth “(…) which is made of nothing but scattered vestiges, broken fossils, accumulated filth, mixed remains of destruction, sedimented memories, displaced sediments, decomposed corpses each in its own way, worms active underground, the filthy work of germination and putrefaction, and, ultimately, impurity par excellence. If cante jondo is a song of the earth, it is above all the song of that very impurity.

2 Ricardo Molina quotes R. Caillois in Theory of Games, in his book Mysteries of Flamenco Art. Essay of an anthropological interpretation, Ed. Sagitario, 1967. p.66.

3 As in Borges’ classic, which contains the absurdity of the taxonomic enterprise, The Analytical Language of John Wilkins in Other Inquisitions, Buenos Aires, Sur, 1952: “These ambiguities, redundancies, and deficiencies are reminiscent of those that Dr. Franz Kuhn attributes to a certain Chinese encyclopedia entitled Celestial Emporium of Benevolent Knowledge. In its remote pages it is written that animals are divided into: a. belonging to the Emperor b. embalmed c. tame d. piglets e. mermaids f. fabulous g. stray dogs h. included in this classification i. that are agitated like madmen j. innumerable k. drawn with a very fine camel-hair brush l. et cetera m. that have just broken the vase n. that from afar look like flies.”

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The Clock Wife
October 25, 2025–January 25, 2026
A Tale of A Tub, Rotterdam

Marja Bloem with Seth Siegelaub
Sue Cramer and Emma Nixon with John Nixon
Juf (Bea Ortega Botas and Leto Ybarra) with Fran Herndon and friends
Vanita and Johanna Monk

With exhibition design by Maud Vervenne and a bulletin text by Dodie Bellamy

Accumulating over three months, The Clock Wife is an exhibition that focuses on artist estate management by presenting four estates through the eyes of the women overseeing them: Marja Bloem presenting her partner Seth Siegelaub; Sue Cramer and Emma Nixon presenting husband and father John Nixon; Johanna Monk presenting her beloved Vanita Monk; and Juf (Bea Ortega Botas and Leto Ybarra) presenting their peer Fran Herndon. [1] At the core of the exhibition is the conflation of administrative and emotional labour inherent to this line of work. Yet an exhibition built around an acknowledgement of the invisibility of certain forms of labour—and an attempt to centre them in turn—has a paradox at heart: how do you make visible that which is not seen?

While still acknowledging the artists around whom each of the estates revolve, The Clock Wife spotlights the work of the executors themselves. In order to do so, each executor has been asked to state a current need of the estate, one that, if filled, would better equip her to do the work at hand. In turn, the exhibition budget, as well as aspects of the broader institutional budget that pertain to some of the needs—such as the advertising budget, the public program budget and the ‘office costs’ budget—have been redistributed towards tending to them.

Each of the executors are at different points in the establishment of the estates as well as in their journeys with the grief that unfolds alongside this work: some have been doing it for decades, others picked it up unexpectedly only recently, learning and healing all wrapped up in one. Additionally, the social and familial relations that inform each of the bonds vary, with each pushing at normative understandings of artistic legacy in their own way. Naturally, then, the needs of each estate are also different: Sue and Emma strive for more visibility for John Nixon’s practice outside Australia, Marja struggles with digitisation requests and seeks an assistant skilled in this area. In another case, Bea and Leto desire more scholarship on Fran Herndon’s work [2], while Johanna simply needs money to buy her time to actually get everything in order. Yet in the conversations that determined these needs, and despite the variations in practice and contexts, all the estates had two overarching things in common: 1. a desire to meet others doing this work in order to learn, and 2. further visibility for the practices. Or, as Johanna concisely put it, ‘Simply, a platform’. With this in mind, The Clock Wife revolves around a central platform system that draws on the invisible histories of the space of A Tale of A Tub—a former washhouse and site of gendered labour itself—and which acts as an intervention into the architecture. Developed by designer Maud Vervenne, the platforms are both metaphor and actual stage, upon which a series of talks, performances and informal meetings will take place throughout the exhibition.

Felt throughout the conversations that informed the making of The Clock Wife is the material and administrative weight of loss. This is not just as physical reality—apartments stacked to the brim with storage boxes full of possessions too achy to part with, paintings dispersed in homes and garages all over the world, begging to be catalogued—but also a financial one—said artworks needing to be sold in order for executors to pay tax on the ones that remain, foundations requiring legal establishment, so on and so forth. And with all this in mind, much of this daily work is done to learn to live with the loss, or, as Marja Bloem said, ‘to keep Seth alive’. Beyond art historical legacies and histories of gendered labour more broadly speaking, in the marginal spaces of the emotionally administrative—the scribbled inscriptions housed in archival systems so personally felt that they refuse objective organisation—there is a lot to be learned from and to acknowledge in the commitment of estate managers. This exhibition is an attempt to begin that process.

 

[1] Given the personal nature of this project, this footnote demands an uncharacteristic insertion of the ‘I’ into the press release form: During a gallery visit a number of years ago, I enquired about the name of the estate executor of Vit Cimbura, a Czech post-modern designer most known for the kitschy experimental clocks he made in the later years of his life. The person I asked wasn’t sure of the name and proceeded to yell out to his colleague at the gallery, ‘What’s the name of the clock wife?’ As evidenced by the nickname, Cimbura’s widow had looked after his work since his passing, and the label, however descriptive, betrayed a certain historical attitude toward the position of both the widow and the estate executor: that being someone defined by her relationship to (the work of) another. This was one of a number of instances that got me thinking about the designation of women to anonymous administrative roles within the narratives of artistic legacy and now serves as the anecdote from which this exhibition got its name.

[2] As part of their contribution, Juf have comissioned a series of texts that will be published throughout the exhibition via The Back Room, an online publishing platform of Small Press Traffic—a San Francisco Bay Area seedbed for poets who push boundaries in the arts. Writers include Ariel Goldberg, Sanja Grozdanić and Tumelo Mtimkhulu.

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Lauren Gault, bone stone voice alone, 2025, Dundee Contemporary Arts (DCA). Photo by Ruth Clark. 

 

bone stone voice alone Lauren Gault
Curated by May Rosenthal Sloan

Dundee Contemporary Arts
152 Nethergate, Dundee 

25 October 2025 – 18 January 2026 

Review by Caitlin Merrett King

As ever with exhibitions by Glasgow based artist Lauren Gault, there are a million things to look at. I don’t mean to sound nonchalant – I love this. I love exhibitions where there are so many little bits you have to look at, and it makes you stay to try to take all this in, or at least asks you to, if you have the time, or maybe come back again and notice some other new element, have a new experience. It is rich and gorgeous, a banquet or, more raw than this – all the elements of a complex recipe laid out.

I enter Lauren’s bright and vast exhibition, bone stone voice alone, which expands across all the recently renovated galleries at Dundee Contemporary Arts. The exhibition is about voice and land, specifically investigating the local area of Tayside, and calling on the myth of Echo from Ovid’s Metamorphoses – the exhibition title recounting Echo’s progression from human body to singular voice, banished to a cave recalling the last words she hears for eternity as punishment for talking too much. I hear a piercing sound coming from the corridor connecting galleries one and two. Collected and manipulated sounds, developed in collaboration with composer Richy Carey (who Gault previously worked with on her exhibition, Samhla at Atlas Arts, Isle of Skye in 2022) and played using ‘exciters’ that produce sounds in response to the surface of the materials they are placed on, planted across the exhibition, create an intermittent polyphonic experience that grounds me into the physicality of the show — the sounds muddle with those from the visitor assistants’ radios, voices upon voices.

 

 

Gallery one contains several ‘truth windows’ displaying glittering chunks of Scottish Achnaba Stone and Bluehills psammite, suggesting a geology that could exist below the gallery floor, or samples of the surrounding Tayside landscape. The stones are peppered with graffiti-like carvings reminiscent of those in the nearby Wemyss Caves that are covered in ancient Pictish carvings and more contemporary graffiti. These carvings are repeated across the exhibition in the two small ancillary galleries – into a slab of sandstone (typical of the buildings in Dundee) that braces a corner of the darker space, carved with shifting motifs of clipart-like ovals and hearts, and the words, ‘amore’, ‘more’, ‘clamore’ – a flickering semantic gag, like a teenager’s notebook scrawls, an echo upon an echo. The words are carved in a very specific Metronic typography, reminiscent of that used on branding for agricultural mineral blocks, a familiar image to Gault who comes from a farming family. The other typeface used in the exhibition is a Grotesque, a word which derives from ‘grottesca’, the italian word for cave – a typically Gault-ian hyper-focused and delicious detail.

 

 

Entering gallery two, a large text comes into view, screenprinted directly onto the wall using fine stone dust (a byproduct of stone cutting) in collaboration with the DCA Print Studio – ‘GOODBYE deinos sauros’ is also printed in the Metronic and grotesque types. The slogan defines a paleontological angle but it also winks. Notably, as part of the gallery’s typical artist choice screenings, Gault has, alongside Herzog’s ‘Cave of Forgotten Dreams’ (2010) selected the childhood classic, ‘The Land Before Time’ (1988). ‘GOODBYE deinos sauros’ also calls immediately to the giant, skeletal Q5m loader arms and Unigrip bale handlers present in galleries one and two. Whilst at first glance, they might appear to be excavation machinery, the equipment is actually used for holding and lifting, and Gault employs them for their suggestion of encircling or protecting – she tells me that she refers to the machinery sculptures as ‘throats and necks’. A neat reference also to the repeated symbol of the hyroid bone that appears throughout the exhibitions. The hyroid is a small u-shaped bone that is the only bone in the body not connected to any other bone. It floats in the throat supporting the tongue, aiding swallowing and processing sound.

 

 

It is this scene within gallery two that completely envelopes me. The mechanical dinosaurs graze on a large low, also u-shaped, platform covered in quilted packing blankets and moulded paper using the Japanese technique Takuhon – a lush, grey topography. Everything is swathing and elegant. Oblong glass forms half full and empty punctuate the scene and catch the low autumnal light pouring down through the gallery’s huge skylights. A large stretch of light grey marle jersey is punctuated with three hemmed holes, like a garment for three heads, and further round the back of the platform, camouflaged, made from packing blanket material, are a brilliant pair of unlined jackets. 

 

 

Within this exhibition is a conversation about people and with people, both present and absent: who is allowed to speak about and for the land? Gault’s response is polyvocal, having collaborated with many multidisciplinary practitioners and experts to develop and make the works for this exhibition. From quilting experts to manufacturers of scientific glassware to academics from the University of Dundee, as well as continuing a collaboration with Professor Katharine Earnshaw, a Classicist from the University of Exeter who also worked on the project at Atlas Arts, Gault’s authorship as an artist her is complicated – she’s asking questions within her practice that she knows she can’t, and doesn’t want to, answer alone. 

This position makes the work difficult to register – as I gushed earlier, it is a million things, it is a million people, and a million years. It opens up and it doesn’t answer an audience but continues to ask questions, acknowledging the ever-shifting nature of research that is embedded within Scottish landscape, and the silenced and underrepresented voices of those who have worked, and continue to work on it and for it. bone stone voice alone uses linguistic and material repetitions to develop a rich visual language, but it does not repeat, it expands. Gault does all this whilst showing her working out too — the exhibition guide tells us everything, the materials list gives more detail than you might expect, the processes are made visible. It is so bountiful.

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The image of the breastfeeding Madonna, or Madonna Lactans, is a recurring motif in ecclesiastical depictions of the Virgin Mary and the infant Jesus. Often portrayed with one breast in the child’s mouth, these iconographic scenes present the Madonna as a nurturing mother nourishing, protecting, and embodying divine procreation. There is a legend surrounding La Madonna (Lacunas) in which St. Bernard of Clairvaux prays before a statue of the Madonna in 1146, and was said to have received a miraculous stream of her milk into his mouth; granting him wisdom, or in some versions, curing his illness. Images of La Madonna with her breasts in hand have percolated from that tale in various forms throughout history.

In 5–7 Excelsior Works (2025), a series of block prints and screen prints echoes imagery sourced from the artist featured in pornography, as well as imagery of La Madonna Lactans and La Santa Muerte, printed on a duvet. In these prints, Diamond reinterprets La Madonna’s sacred gesture through a lens of self-representation, pleasure, and labour. The economy of divinity becomes personal and bodily; the artist herself appears in a pornographic scene next to the Madonna, in which a client is sucking her nipples. We see a gesture that echoes St. Bernard’s miraculous renewal, charged with erotic intensity of oral pleasure. True to form, Diamond is blending boundaries between the sacred and the profane.

Michel Foucault’s concept of heterotopia defines spaces that are constantly redefined by their content. Diamond frames the bedroom or the hotel room as a heterotopic site where care, fantasy, and labor take place. She often references the ‘girlfriend experience’, a sector of full-service sex work that encompasses emotional intimacy as well as sexual labor. Like the image of the Madonna referenced in her prints, the sex worker performs and nurtures. Her encounters with clients are never the same, as they are constantly shaped and re-shaped by her counterparts needs and the settings they inhabit. Like the hotels and bedrooms she works in the sex worker herself becomes a heterotopia – constantly redefined by the desires of her clients while cultivating attention and care in order to provide whatever remedial comfort they need. She is a mirror, an anonymous sanctuary, and a sexual sanctum.

For this exhibition Diamond expands these ideas beyond print into a sculptural installation, recreating the standardised intimacy of the hotel or motel room: lamps cast in soap, a bible, a carpet. Her work meditates on labor, pleasure, sex, and emotional support. The exhibition space becomes a site of recontextualization, a mutable framework reflecting the ever- shifting environments that shape sex work. Diamond’s practice, grounded in an ethos of care, transforms the obscured realms of sexual and domestic labor into a compelling visual narrative, one that fuses the restorative and psychosexual, the therapeutic and erotic, and ultimately questioning the distinction between site and stage.

Darya Diamond is a Mexican-American artist based in London. She graduated from her MFA at Goldsmiths, University of London in 2020, and holds a BA from Hampshire College, MA. Her practice intersects across mediums such as sculpture, audio, print and film. Her practice is ritually and theoretically rooted in methods of reproduction – regenerating and renegotiating the promise of transactional intimacy, care, and invisible labour. Her work has been recently exhibited in Los Angeles (Sebastian Gladstone Gallery), Naples (Pu-Teca), London (Import Export, Pippy Houldsworth, Guts Projects, Zabludowicz), Paris (Pauline Perplexe), among others. This is her third exhibition with piloto pardo and the third exhibition at the gallery’s new permanent space.

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Blizzard by siblings Jacob and Florence Dwyer is a collaborative installation in which Jacob presents his recent audio drama, Tom’s House, alongside a series of ceramic sculptures made in response by Florence.

Tom’s House, follows the diaristic meanderings of a man who has entered the empty house of an old friend. As he wanders around the creaky Tudor cottage—making cups of tea, rearranging CD collections, and zoning in on the minutiae of domestic space—he ruminates on ideas of emotional intimacy. The sculptures, created in response to the audio, take their formal departure from a fireback: a cast iron slab that sits at the back of a fireplace, designed to protect the bricks of a building from fire while also radiating heat back into the room. The spoken words and sculpted imagery warp in alignment to open up ideas surrounding birth, death, friendship and grief.

In the words of Caitlin Merrett King, who responded to the installation’s first presentation at David Dale Gallery (Glasgow): “Stagnant domestic debris from Tom’s house appears as apotropaic algae on the surfaces of Florence’s firebacks: beads, years, red fowers and other talismanic objects that have long been edited out of Jacob’s script –– mutating versions of which were sent to Florence on a monthly basis over the past year –– sink to the bottom. In Medieval pottery, copper pipe flings were mixed into glazes to make a rich emerald green, as Florence emulates on the frebacks’ swampy surfaces. There’s a subtle and satisfying nudge wink here that even the glaze of the works contains the spirit of a conduit. In [Blizzard], we are passing through, or passing over, but always going deeper underground. The siblings Dwyer have created room within a room within a room; a place where time stands still and we might still find Tom sinking slowly into his bed like the yellow yolk oozing down his chin.”

Tom’s House can be experienced in full on Bandcamp.

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‘Pomace’ examines a recursive logic of extraction, a loop whereby people, industry, resources and semiotics are caught up in a cycle; the formation of dense resource deposits, their labourious extraction, the inevitable production of entropic waste and a compulsion to make use of this excess material, over and over.

The project specifically focuses on the history of the coal mining industry in Collie, a town located in the Gnaalar Karla Booja region of WA, where the artist’s family immigrated to from Italy in the 1950s to take up work as underground coal miners. With the last of the underground mines closing in 1990, and the open-pit mines and coal processing plants being earmarked for closure by 2030, Pomace attempts to broadly survey an ensemble of factors at play that constitute the waste-resource-waste-resource cycle outlined above. These include; the geological formation of coal through abundant amounts of dead vegetation being compacted with sedimentary rock, cooking deep in the earth over millions of years to form a fossil fuel; colonial and capitalist imperatives that drive the extraction of such natural resources; a newly developed 500MW/2GWh battery grid system built as a replacement for the old industry; recently subdued (but not entirely quashed) competing politics for nuclear power; archival documentation, mural art, and tourists centres that preserve and reproduce a semiotic legacy of extraction; and my family’s tradition of pressing olive oil. 

The show tries to consider the multi-scalar nature of extraction through a familial lens of olive oil production, connecting the two through the motif of pomace – the pulpy byproduct left over from the production process, the excess that remains after a lucrative resource has been juiced. As such, the project is interested in what happens to this pomace, how it folds itself within complex networks, and how its extractive logic continues to reverberate through new industry and culture.

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The show brings together artists Nooshin Askari, Juan Larraín González, and Dylan Kerr. Its title draws on a phrase from September, a poem in Maggie Nelson’s 2003 book ‘Something Bright, Then Holes’. As we enter, before we know it, we are sucked into another layered vortex, responding to internal cues otherwise ignored.

Dylan Kerr’s piece ‘Solo for Breath’ opens with a focused, pressurised sibilance. As it slowly expands, it moves through the international phonetic alphabet’s chart of cardinal vowels, in both their tight/nasal and open/oral forms. Subtle shifts in vocal formants accentuate specific harmonics, each breath shaping a unique soundspace.

A similarly systematic precision underpins Nooshin Askari’s cut-out drawings. The two cases and the gutter are components of a book in its binding process. Across its sheets, a grid unfolds into enclosed territories, impressing a restrained order onto evasive objects of desire. Squeezed to the left side remains a bruised heart which, even in its displaced shape, is full of longing.

In Juan Larraín González’s paintings, perforated clusters over-mine their own energy. Surfaces appear carved in, their textures rough, cliff-like folds. The hive we see is a place where the workers have relentlessly pruned their honeycombs year after year. One day, however, as debris, propolis, and cocoons hardened the comb until it turned dark and uninhabitable, they abandoned it and set out to build anew nearby.

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The Paddocks Gallery is pleased to present How to Drive, a solo exhibition by Katerina Moschou. Originating in 2022, How to Drive has evolved from an intimate photographic project into an award-winning photobook and a solo exhibition in Wrocław, Poland. Now, for its first presentation in Greece, Moschou expands the series with new photographs and sculptures that trace the relationship between body and the car.

Rooted in the simplicity of everyday moments, How to Drive reflects on a place historically distant to women yet deeply familiar to the artist: a car repair workshop. Her father, a mechanic with a passion for classic Italian cars, provides both the setting and the starting point for this study.

Spending hours in his workshop in the centre of Athens, Moschou observes gestures of care: the lifting of a hood, the touch of fabric, the unveiling of form. Turning the gaze inward, she captures the mechanical parts and materials–soft and raw–their juxtaposition and continuities. Then, behind the wheel herself, the car becomes both stage and vessel; a bounded space where the body performs small, repetitive movements, almost unconsciously. The body becomes an extension of the interior space, its fragments of posture and rhythm composing silent rituals that navigate an act as automated, and seemingly mundane, as driving.  

Many aspects of our daily lives remain unnoticed and unrecorded—driving among them. “Once learned, there is no need for heroic gestures. Instead, one must simply succumb to repetition.” the artist notes. Once learned, these motions no longer require thought; they simply happen, quietly shaping our sense of place and time.

There are moments—paused at a red light, hands resting on the steering wheel—when time seems to suspend. We become both observer and observed, enclosed in a small metallic chamber, moving and waiting. While driving, we develop a tactile relationship with the surrounding materials, feeling the car as a membrane between outside and inside, between motion and presence. This dialogue extends into the sculptural works, where the car’s exterior and interior materials are reimagined: metal suggesting safety and dynamism, fabric evoking comfort and bodily protection. Using parts sourced from her father’s workshop—windshields, seat belts, felt covers—the artist carves, pierces, and weaves them, transforming functional components into poetic forms.

The exhibition examines driving as a practice of memory and movement, and the car as a vessel where motion becomes ritual. Within a space traditionally coded as masculine, Moschou reclaims and transforms it into a field of observation. Echoing Ursula Le Guin’s The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction, the work reorients attention toward unheroic narratives—often connected to women’s experiences. Through her photographs and sculptures, Moschou translates the act and environment of driving into form and material. In How to Drive, the car is no longer about grand destinations or speed, but becomes a space to embrace what is most often overlooked.

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Our most exquisite and confounding actions are not for ourselves, each of us is but a powerless shadow pushed by a thousand hands, worn as a glove to enact happenings for the interest and amusement of higher beings. The irony being that we ourselves cannot determine which sequences and synchronicities prove to be of amusement and interest to these idle actors; the games that the Omniscents play are incomprehensible to us. We understand by categorizing, rendering our daily concerns into parables, and parables into paintings. They find the painting banal, a makeshift stage for the main act, when a fly lands on its surface and defecates. And while a fixation on the minor detail of fly shit on a painting might seem superfluous as we speak of the concurrence of heaven and earth, like a transparency laid over a print, it is exactly these traces of excremental interaction between dimensions, these most minor details, that make our flitting shadows worthy of applause… 

There lived a boy who thought himself clever and celebrated contradictions. He loved to misuse the tools of others in his village. With the shoeshiner’s brush, he streaked clean dishes. With the washwoman’s soap, he dusted the schoolmaster’s hair and collar until he looked diseased. From the supermarket he borrowed the labelmaker, beeping and buzzing as it squeezed out barcodes. He printed false names for rice and rolled the stickers into rigatoni tubes before feeding them through mail slots. He always returned what he borrowed before sunset. And it was during one sunset, as he sprinted home from another day of misuse, that he saw a tremendous orange gleam from between the half-shuttered blinds of the oculist’s surgical room. The window was unlocked and his form was backlit by the fading solar rays. The shadow of his hand reached the desired option before he did. The next morning, he began to cut. 

He thought of paper dolls, of shadow puppets. Surely a few figures could be sliced by a device meant to separate cataracts from still-functional tissue. He cut the air around people. He started with his mother, then the schoolmaster, followed by the shoeshiner, then the washwoman. He returned to the oculist and cut the air around both doctor and patient. The air peeled away with the crinkle and shimmer of plastic wrap. 

They would have a look of relief. Their skin would glow. Adults would age backwards, crows’ feet receding into their eyes and blackened teeth fading to white. Children looked both worldly and innocent. But the most bothersome occurrence was their loss of language. They seemed to understand each other implicitly. They glided through their daily tasks in silence. Everything functioned well. They stopped using words. Their mouths would open, as if about to speak, but their lips never fully reached the shapes necessary for an utterance. They lived beyond language. They used pens as props and sat typing on their keyboards with blank screens and serene expressions. The boy soon had cut the space surrounding every person in the village. 

No matter how carefully he sliced, the boy could not cut himself out. He traced the rhythms of their daily lives, extracting the space of the objects and actions of those blissful villagers. He meticulously cut for several days and nights until he had carved the whole village away. Everything the boy knew floated away as a cloud with a final stroke of the knife. He buried the knife then walked half a day to the next village and found work as a blacksmith’s apprentice. 

¡Que nos deleitemos en esta edad precaótica!

-Layla Fassa

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For the first time, artists Hannan Jones and Shamica Ruddock bring their sound-based practice into sculptural form. Continuing their shared reflections on how rhythm, memory, and identity shift across histories and geographies, the artists turn their focus to musical notation; its conventions, limits and possibilities. In contrast to their use of electronics; synthesizers, sampling and drum machines, Jones and Ruddock deconstruct the drum and the bell – instruments made of wood, hide and metal, which have formed the foundation of rhythmic composition – to reimagine a score in a non-linear, material form.

Metal shaped nearby in Bermondsey, wood from Cambridgeshire, and ethically sourced hide and dyes from Dartmoor, are combined with Jarrah wood from Australia and Mahogany from the Caribbean to create a new sonic language drawn from contexts that are significant to the artists. Driven by the question, ‘what histories and sounds might resonate from the surface of material’, the resulting work brings multiple sites, histories of production and sonic imaginaries into conversation, depending on who is looking and what reverberates.

Strike | the mark feeds the score | surface as notation was developed during a two-year residency at Wysing Arts Centre. The exhibition has been commissioned and produced in partnership with Wysing Arts Centre, Forma and Knotenpunkt.

 

Hannan Jones is an interdisciplinary artist whose practice spans sculpture, sound, moving-image and performance. Her current research expands hybridity, language, and rhythms associated with cultural and social migration, and psycho-geography. Using samples and layering of audio material, she reclaims parallel histories, and reimagines connections between them. Recent projects include: Relay (with Samir Kennedy), The Common Guild, Glasgow; A Frontier in Depth | Perspective(s), Artes Mundi, National Roman Legion Museum and Amgueddfa Cymru – Museum Wales, Caerleon; and The Site of Sound | Like Spring, I will be many, Triangle-Asterides, Marseille (all 2025). She has been in residence at Wysing Arts Centre, Cambridgeshire since 2024, and in 2025, she was also in residence at WORM Sound Studio, Rotterdam, commissioned by Radiophrenia, and Triangle-Asterides, Marseille supported by Glasgow Sculpture Studios and CCA, Glasgow. In 2023, she became a recipient of the Oram Awards, a platform to elevate the work and voices of women and gender non-conforming artists innovating in sound, music and related technology.

Shamica Ruddock is an artist-composer working across film, installations and live performance. Her experiments in sound are informed by a core investment in the sonic as a site for knowledge production, with narrative, allegory and the linguistic function of drum language as core departure points.

Recent projects include: Palimpsests & Epithets, Treasure Hill Artist Village, Taiwan and Skēnē, Malmö; A Reverberant Shadow, Post-National Digital Pavilion at the 60th Venice Biennale (all 2024); Deciphering a Broken Syntax, South London Gallery; and Something More Than Masquerade, Make Film History x BBC Archive at Bertha DocHouse, London (both 2022). In 2021, she was a British Library Eccles Centre Visiting Fellow researching Maroon sound cultures and in 2023 Ruddock was selected as an awardee of the second edition of the LOEWE FOUNDATION / Studio Voltaire Award. Recent residencies have included Amant Foundation, New York (2023), Somerset House, London (2024) and Wysing Arts Centre (2024 – present).

Together, Jones and Ruddock have performed widely for Counterflows Festival, Glasgow; Nottingham Contemporary; Oscillations Festival curated by QO2, Brussels; Archive Books x Savvy Contemporary, Berlin; Cafe OTO, London; Madeira Dig, Portugal; Silent-Green, Berlin and La Chunky, Glasgow. They have held residencies with Wysing Art Centre, Akademie Schloss Solitude, Stuttgart in partnership with Liquid Architecture, Melbourne; Centre for Contemporary Arts Glasgow, and CCA Annex where they published their ongoing project Reimagining in Conversation as an online audio-research-essay in conjunction with Triangle Studios. In addition the duo’s text Speculation is the Vehicle has been published in Australian publication, Un-Projects and Seeking Channels, an anthology published by Well Projects, Margate.

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Petty Boots begins with a rhythm of moment – a step, a trip, a detour – small steps through a city that refuse grandeur. The title itself feels like a slip of the tongue, something minor but charged with movement. To be “petty” here, is to resist the big stride in favor of something closer to the shuffle, the sidestep.

The exhibition departs from the Situationist Internationals impulse to drift (dérive), to let the city and its affective currents move back through the body. But instead of seeking total critique or heroic rupture, Petty Boots turns toward what McKenzie Wark calls the micro-spectacle: the dispersed, everyday scenes where ideology flickers through the banal. “We live amid a disintegrated spectacle,” Wark writes, “not a single screen of ideology but a swarm of micro-spectacles.”1 These micro-spectacular relations appear throughout the
exhibition: small, charged situations that map desire, power, and affect across the urban, bodily, and conceptual landscape.

They find the stage in scourings of the streets, a cob of corn, an evening bag – they become a sight of drift: a small spectacle that exposes how ideology seeps into seemingly trivial materials, yet also how those materials leak, resist, and misbehave. Laurène’s subjects speak in slang: coded, affective, half-hidden. Language becomes both map and camouflage, echoing Alice Becker-Ho’s sense of slang as a form of outlaw speech. Each artist steps into their own version of the voyeur’s role, tracing through public space in search of moments where the world refuses full capture. Following the Situationist notion of psychogeography, in Wark’s terms, relates to a way of sensing how a city organizes emotion and behavior, and how wandering through it can open tiny breaks of awareness. Within  Nicholas’s works we find blinks of the city in passing, snippets that, when repurposed, become an act of soft resistance, tracing emotional and ideological currents. All three artists sense how ideology moves through the city’s surfaces – how emotion, desire, and attention are organized by the built environment. At times this emotional drifting amps up the erotic charge between body and commodity, as finds form in Micha’s sculptural objects. Wark notes that post-capitalism extracts value not only from labour but also from emotions and desires.2 It is here, where the libidinal and the economic meet, that the intimacy of capital and the body’s submissive refusal is revealed.

– Doris Hardeman

 

1 McKenzie Wark, The Spectacle of Disintegration: Situationist Passages out of the Twentieth Century. 2013. Verso.
2 McKenzie Wark, Capital is Dead: Is something worse?. 2019. Verso.

 

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Lena Brudieux maps out discrepancies, tolerates noise but sometimes prefers silence to calm her disturbed sleep. Two meters from her bed, she is already abroad: allowing the contours of a universe to emerge where floating figures, temporary architectures, and gestures to heal the incurable unfold. Here, a single sign can combine several meanings, and bodies wander, adapt, and constrain themselves in order to survive. One wakes up “askew,” in an intermediate state where certain elements support each other—as if to prevent themselves from falling—and where others seem suspended in a semi-conscious state. For those who experience it differently, the night is not a time of rest, but “a fallow period, worked underground by mysterious forces that ferment in the dark and suddenly allow unexpected flowers to bloom in the light”(1). Lena Brudieux’s solo exhibition at Port des Créateurs is therefore conceived as an environment that reflects the infinite potentialities of this troubled in-between state. She explores the repercussions of urban oppression on sleep and questions how this tension is replayed in sleepwalking, which is at once a release valve, an act of resistance, and a space for emancipation from social norms. The whole work questions a little-known, quasi-parascientific interstitial zone, where studies related to sleep sometimes prove to be just as relevant as a form of mysticism of banality.

(1) Chloé Thomas, Parce que la nuit, Rivages, 2023. « une jachère, travaillée souterrainement par des forces mystérieuses qui fermentent dans le noir et qui, d’un coup, laissent percer au jour des fleurs inespérées »

Sarah Lolley 

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Sven Gex, celebratory, 2025, gift wrapping paper, nails, glass, printed images from the ‚character fitting‘ series 2021-ongoing

shown here:

1 swim coach (fall and spring) character

2 frat boy (peak abercrombie era) characters

3 apprentices, early career, early success characters

4 some years into the job characters

5 dishwasher character

6 sexy farmer calender model (october) character

7 maid-of-all-work character

8 job fair fashion show (college graduate, package

delivery person) characters

9 stepmom character

10 on the way to prom character

11 blushing at prom character

12 night out on vaction characters

13 bachelorette party character

14 stepdad characters15 roadmovie characters

16 beach day characters

17 newspaper go-go-dancer character

18 hercules at omphale (ca. 1967) character

19 contemporary caveman character

20 jackass (maid and heidi) character

21 holbein jesus screen test character

22 sauna goer character

23 anna karenina boudoir character

24 beach clean-up characters

25 snowflake costume (ca. 1973) character

26 hangman character

27 field researcher character

28 circuit party dancer character

29 adult entertainment website merch-seller character

30 adult entertainer between takes characters

31 gym guidebook writer/gymfluencer character

32 shoe model (1980s) character

33 happy couture client character

34 annoyed couture client character

35 out of funds couture client character

36 euphoric couture client character

37 late check-out celebrity character

38 rodeo drive shopper characters

39 finance bro with a taste for lingerie character

40 cold bourgeoisie characters

41 caught in the rain (côte d‘azur native, surfer and line cooks) characters

42 biblical epic actor character

43 butchers assistant characters

44 master butcher character

45 widow (1950s) (marketplace) character

46 widow (1950s) (at home) character

47 drunk scout character

48 sleepover characters

49 final boy character

50 sedated couture client character

51 late baroque/rococo widow character

52 late baroque/rococo bride character

53 maria theresia at the tailor character

54 seven year itch go-go-dancer character

starring: Alex, Beni, Basile, Felix, Fretz, Frank, German, Gregor, Jaro, Jasper, Josef, Kairan, Matthias, Max, Noah, Patrik, Roberto, Romeo, Scott, Yannis, Yvi, Zaïd

 

Mouthful

When she came home, he would often lean casually in the corner and greet her with a nonchalant remark that made the blood rise into her downy cheeks. Slim but strong, he stood there, his young, supple body resting against the wall. Gradually, she got used to this sight, to the naturalness with which he seemed to be waiting for her there. When she eventually fell for his charm, she began taking him along more often – on weekends and dinners with friends, later even sometimes to work. She introduced him to everyone, but he was very reserved in groups and her friends didn’t seem to have much interest in him; they hardly ever spoke to him and never asked whether it was he who had reawakened the glow within her.

Although this fact did not succeed in clouding her rose-tinted glasses for long, it did make her angry. At first, she tried not to show it, but she answered fewer and fewer invitations to joint activities, found more and more excuses not to pick up the phone, and so the invitations were gradually replaced by worried messages – until those, too, slowly ceased. When they walked together, he held her hand firmly or, if she wished, wrapped his strong arms protectively around her narrow shoulders. He was always there, silent, reliable, like a shadow accompanying her. Whenever, during one of their walks, they threatened to run into someone she still knew from her former life, he stepped in front of her, shielding her from any potential, unpleasant encounter. His arms were thin but supple and strong from all the work. His skin was smooth, her sweat beaded upon it and ran down his body to his shaft, which nestled hard and warm into her hand – as if the hollows and ridges on it had been made for her fingers. At night she showed him her favorite films: Naked Lunch, Beauty and the Beast and Cast Away with Wilson, whom she – she admitted to him, giggling and blushing – found quite attractive. She meant it jokingly, but he understood differently. That was the first time he snapped, straightened up and loomed over her. Startled, she backed away and fled, crying, into the bedroom, while he spent the night on the couch.

Something changed after that incident. Sometimes she imagined herself yelling at the lamp until it yelled back: “Why are you screaming like that?!” She hung the hat on the rack, and at night, on her way to the bathroom, she whispered to it. Her coat draped over the chair was visibly cold. Everything around her began to move, as though the silence itself was breathing. Who are you, who are all of you? This unspeakable silence around her. Perhaps the world of things surrounding her couldn’t bear it any longer either. And when she finally closes the front door behind her… her gathered objects spend the whole day in silence, waiting for her to return – to maybe lift the fork or the black roll, to stick it into rice or press it against her back? That seemed almost unbearably lonely to her. More and more, she began to care not only about the usefulness of her belongings, but also – above all – about their character and well-being, letting them speak all the more when she was there. She felt slightly guilty about shoving the toothbrush into her mouth twice a day without knowing who this little stick with bristles actually was. The hairs stood stiff and forward, and sometimes she left behind tiny green spinach bits. How rude, she had thought, and took the brush with her to the shower the next time. Gratefully, the swollen toothbrush chest snuggled against her fingers. It took a few days after that before he spoke for the first time. At first, it still felt to her as if she was imagining it – or as if she was lending him her own voice – but that feeling faded quickly, and with it, the silence.

Text by Kurt Cassady

(Translated using Chat GPT)

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EN: Pony presents you Tomorrow, an exhibition of all new work by the New York based artist and writer Justin Chance.
Doubling down on the artist’s interests in language, time and the conventions of the everyday, the exhibition will feature quilts, works on paper, one large woven drawing and a site-specific wallpaper installation. Indulging in the artist’s fascination with the word “tomorrow” as a concrete assertion of the unknown, the exhibition explores ideas of solipsism, mortality, presumption and the role of ego in thoughts, considerations, doubts, worries and expectations surrounding the future. With spirals, a world map and proclamations of “ME!” colored in red, Tomorrow, the artist’s first solo exhibition in France examines time as an abstraction, attendant and unrelenting force.

Justin Chance (born in 1993 in New York) is an artist and writer based in New York. A 2015 graduate of the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, he has presented his work in several solo and duo exhibitions, including at Tara Downs (New York, 2023 and 2025), Naranjo 141 (Mexico City, 2024), Hesse Flatow (New York, 2023), and Sydney (Sydney, 2023). His work has also been featured in group exhibitions at James Fuentes, Chapter NY, Arsenal Contemporary, and JTT in New York, as well as at NO NAME (Paris, 2023).

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As I tune into your energy, Esther, I feel really nervous. I feel like this nervy, anxious energy. It’s not about me, it’s about your life and your situation. I feel like I’m walking over hot coals –– that kind of sensation –– and a lot of trepidation, a lot of fear, a lot of uncertainty, and you’re holding your breath because I think you’re waiting to hear about something. That’s really critical, that will change your situation radically for the positive, I think, more than the negative, but if you don’t get a positive answer then you’re really not in a great place. So, you’re waiting –– is that true?

I feel like this is more about career stuff, rather than personal, like relationship stuff. I think it’s more about the potential of either studying or a job or something that will take you forward in a direction that you really want to go in. And it seems imminent, you know, like over the next week or so that you’re going to hear.

You’ve got the victory card here, so I think that you’ll probably get your job and then you’ll freak out. Oh, like all your doubts and fears will come up, and you just have to take a deep breath and say, “Is that real, no? Is that real, no?”, because the moon is about reflection and illusion. It’s about your fears coming up, but when you really shine a light on it, they disappear like smoke. “Is it real?” “Is that my responsibility?” “Does that really matter?” Look at the bigger picture.

And that goes for your love life, too. Until you have a different relationship with yourself, you’re gonna attract guys who want you to be their Mummy, and you want them to be your Daddy and make all the decisions for you. And then you get angry with them because you don’t like their decisions, and then you don’t have any sex because you’re their mother and they don’t make love to their mother.

So why should everybody have to like you and think you’re so wonderful?… Bigger picture, baby.

And you have to start doing it for yourself, because you’re not 21 anymore. You’re not even 25 anymore, right? You’re on the 30 hump, right? So, this is you wanting to get married, wanting to get babies, wanting to work, wanting to… That’s really stressful.

Okay? This is the only job you have in life: to be true to yourself. Which self? Your higher self, your higher self, and you’re very intuitive and you’re very interested in spiritual things but you’re also scared that you’re going to misuse it. So, the only way you can have confidence in yourself is to trust it. Try it, trust it, try it, and see if it works or not. Because, honey, what you’re doing doesn’t work now. It doesn’t really work for you. It makes you unhappy, it makes you stressed, and it doesn’t make you shine.

 

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Magic is everywhere for artist Shani Leseman: in our dreams, our experiences, and the world around us. In the exhibition In Between Worlds, she invites visitors to experience how painting can serve as a bridge between daily reality and the dream world. The exhibition at 38CC is her first solo presentation and it brings together new and earlier works. In addition to paintings, Leseman also presents monotypes, ceramics, glass objects, videos, and wall paintings.

Talismagic
In her work, Leseman explores the role of magic and the supernatural in everyday life. Her practice is deeply influenced by brua, a spiritual tradition from the Antillean culture in which she grew up. This way of magical thinking forms an essential foundation for her work. This is also the case in her series Talismagic, [1] which consists of 100 ceramic talismans. They are based on milagros: small metal figures used to express gratitude or to request protection. Each talisman in the series has its own function: for example, to ward off gossip, to ensure a stable income, or to preserve memories.

Reflections on Some of My Latest Dreams
Dreams play a central role in Leseman’s work. Sometimes quite literally, when she envisions the color, form, or title of a new painting in a dream. Other works are more reflective: Leseman uses them as a way to grasp and process her dreams through drawing and painting. For years, she has kept a dream diary, which she analyzes through the lens of philosopher Marie-Louise von Franz, a former student of Jung, who viewed dreams as messages from the unconscious. In Reflections on some of my latest dreams [2] (2025), Leseman combines image and text in a book of monotypes on cotton silk, where personal and universal stories intertwine. The text in the book arises from an exercise in automatic writing, in which word associations help to explore what lies hidden in the subconscious.

Floating
Leseman’s paintings flow, breathe, and speak; just like the world they emerge from. She listens to her works and lets them guide her, often leading the painting to take an unexpected direction. Floating was born from such a dialogue between artist and canvas. Initially dominated by earthy tones, the painting appeared in a vivid blue in one of her dreams, a sign she followed in the studio. She used handmade paint made from Reckitt’s Blue, a bluing agent traditionally used in Curaçao for protection against jealousy, curses, and misfortune.

She’s So Lucky
She’s a Star
Leseman makes her own paints from earth pigments that she has found, bought, or received. Some sources are known, such as soil from Kassel or nettle from the garden near her studio, while others remain more mysterious. Unlike synthetic materials, these inks stay alive; once applied to canvas or wall, their colors continue to shift under the influence of sunlight and each other, becoming deeper or more fleeting over time. Although she works with traditional materials, Leseman’s paintings are firmly connected to present time. Born around the turn of the millennium, her earthly paintings occasionally carry a touch of Y2K aesthetics. For example, in the subtle use of metallic paint from the discount store Action, or in the title of a Britney Spears pop song.

Monotypes
Over the past year Leseman has created a series of monotypes, a technique in which she presses a painted glass plate onto fabric. It is an unpredictable process where material and method strongly influence the outcome. The image is mirrored, parts of the paint remain behind, and layers blend in a new order. It is similar to opening a ceramic kiln: each result is a surprise. The monotypes offer Leseman a new way to give tangible form to the layered nature of fleeting experiences: the moment of printing becomes a threshold where the temporary image takes on a lasting form.

Women, animals, spirits
Leseman’s works are inhabited by female archetypes, animals, and spirits. In her recent monotype series, women appear as witches, angels, and fortune tellers. Animals act as messengers and spiritual guides; for instance, she created See You When I See You in memory of her late dog Logan. In The Animals and their Witch, she turns her focus to the relationship between humans and other animals, whom she regards as individuals deserving of full and meaningful lives. Recently, she has also drawn inspiration from nineteenth-century spirit photography, as well as images of auras and other paranormal phenomena.

Meeting Etna
Through video as well, Leseman explores how to form connections with her surroundings. Meeting Etna documents her encounter with Mount Etna in Sicily. The video interweaves image, text, and painting into a visual diary portraying the volcano as a living being. Together with artist Trees Heil, Leseman poses questions to Etna and receives answers through their dreams. For Leseman visiting Etna is as much a part of her artistic practice as painting itself: both are ritual acts through which she seeks meaningful connection with another entity.

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Iris Touliatou develops her works in relation to the infrastructures and processes—spatial, administrative, linguistic—that are inherent to the site of exhibition. Her solo exhibition Shifts at Kunstverein München, her most extensive in Germany to date, is conceived as a site-responsive constellation of scenes that position the institutional framework both as backdrop and as co-constitutive material. In this way, the exhibition anchors itself within the rhythms and procedures of the Kunstverein, at the same time expanding them. Composed as protocols, Touliatou’s works reveal the mechanisms that govern organizations and their actors, while extending beyond the procedural to questions of affect, labor, and language.

At the core of Touliatou’s practice lies a kind of material and immaterial intervention, aligning with Kunstverein München’s commitment to rethinking its own functions and histories. “Object/scenes,” a term borrowed from Lauren Berlant, turn the association into both object and host, and its actors into both subject and host. They examine the artist’s own conditions of possibility, shifting constellations of intentions and permissions, and entangled infrastructures—including the neighboring Deutsches Theatermuseum; ongoing negotiations with the landlord (the Bavarian Palaces Administration); points of intersection with the institution’s publics; and its conditions of visibility, social relations, production, and funding unfolding in real time. Operating from within while leaning outward, Touliatou mobilizes infrastructural thinking to probe how forms of labor, class, and citizenship appear, circulate, or are withheld within institutional frameworks.

With a change in directorship imminent and the current curatorial team preparing its final exhibition, Touliatou’s work navigates a shifting terrain of civic and structural negotiation. In this context, Kunstverein München is shaped not only by what is presented, but by how presentation is made possible, namely through the politics of time, resources, and attention. The institution is not understood as a neutral container, but as an active agent in the formation of subjectivities, publics, and potential futures.

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What Time is Love? is an exhibition created by six artists from Peckham based collective Intoart responding to the domestic space of Flat Time House, the studio home of artist John Latham (1921–2006). Incorporating textiles, furniture, book works, drawing, painting, sculptural garments and photography, the artworks in What Time is Love? speak in chorus about moments of connection and belonging.

This group exhibition has grown from time spent by the artists at Flat Time House over two years, with the house forming a space to reflect, talk about their practice and think collectively. The monumental scale and ambition of these works is politically charged, representing at once the energy and emotional intensity of the dancer whilst confronting the marginalisation of disabled people in the history of art.

The exhibition title, taken from the KLF’s 1988 electronic dance anthem What Time is Love? references a shared subject of exploration for the group: alternative histories of music and culture. Over the course of the artists’ extended research, they explored how self-identities are expressed through sound and are formed and evolve from different cultural backgrounds and sonic contexts. The works in conversation reveal deep connections and histories shared by the artists as part of Intoart, the community of which has developed into a scene in its own right over the past 25 years.

A collection of cassette tapes curated by the artists, and featuring contributors close to FTHo and Intoart, has grown over time as the exhibition developed. Cassettes are available to listen to in the gallery alongside the artworks, serving as an audio mapping of the cultural scenes feeding into the production of the works on display.

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passante, (italian) noun: passer-by, (also belt loop, bypass road)

Unearthing
Yearning

We carry with us things, sometimes the superfluous too. At times they pour out from their containers, left behind, forgotten. They pass by, accumulate into piles, on the chairs in the corners of rooms, on kerbsides, as islets in the atmosphere and the oceans.

In their plurality the things become placeless. Intentionally ignored. But nothing came from the emptiness. Things and structures amass, demand, material from somewhere. Components have been excavated, mined, combined and boiled with other materials. In a precise application they become another, perhaps a new matter. New thing. New story.

Ursula K. Le Guin writes in her essay Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction (1986) how she finally found a story regarding the history of humanity which she could relate to, when she read of Elizabeth Fisher’s theory of the same title. What if the first sign of civilization, the first tool, was a container? In a bowl, basket or cloth, one can collect food and other useful items – humans too – to carry with throughout one’s journeys.

In the belly of a bag a hand reaches to find a familiar texture, a saw-like metallic edge of the key or the round plastic surface of an electric badge. Besides the clutter, at the bottom of the bag an image of the self is drawn, likeness of the human. What I hold on to; what could I share with others, if asked.

Sediment
Turning

We leave behind trails, streams of things, paths of self, mounds of constructions. What’s left is a route, a suggestion for a story. The outermost layer of the earth is permeated by a built environment, presently. Infrastructure with its roads, bridges, fibre optic cables – the indirect footprint of man. It repeats itself as long as every day is, for now.

An object, a thing, leaves an impression on a material. Pressed and turned around it makes a mould and transfers a print, an image, somewhere else. The dents and bumps are turned around, processed, set apart from the rest.

The negative finds its positive. The turning, the repetition, constructs an image of a whole. A sediment of constituents, parts. Strata, sub and super. What was once essential is buried under and later, maybe once again revealed.

Text: Isa Lumme

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