ARTISTS & COLLABORATIONS
Anna K.E., Markéta Adamcová, Argišt Alaverdyan, Alexandra Barth, Jiří Bartůněk, Ondřej Basjuk, Karolina Bielawska, Sebastian Burger, Romana Drdová, Pavla Dundálková, Filip Dvořák, Ondřej Filípek, Antonín Jirát, Jiří Kovanda, Masha Kovtun, David Krňanský, Anna Kyjovská, Viktorie Langer, Mikolaj Moskal, Jozef Mrva, Richard Nikl, Jiří Pitrmuc, Přemysl Procházka, Robin Seidl, Kryštof Strejc, Adam Vít, Adam Vačkář, David Vojtuš, Ju Young Kim, Ivana Zochová

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Anna K.E.
Anna K.E.’s background as a ballerina informs her artistic practice, which concerns the relationship between objects and their environment, and how the latter can often define or limit the former. Through installation, sculpture, and video, she often focuses her explorations of space on gallery architecture or the artist’s studio. In her videos, K.E. engages in absurd or abject activities, such as attempting to fold a mattress across her body or to row herself across her studio on a board—gestures which question the utility of artistic creativity. The utopian promise of Modernism, especially as espoused by architects, lurks in the background of K.E.’s practice, which adopts these antecedent forms while questioning the ideological virtue and relevance of them by positioning them against her Sisyphean actions.

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Markéta Adamcová
Markéta Adamcová’s oeuvre scrutinizes themes of nature, matter, and fertility, showcasing a visceral, painterly language in which insect and human bodies transmute in intricate crossovers of growth, decay, and rebirth.
In a recent series of works by Markéta Adamcová, the rhythm of brown, earthly tumbleweeds and seeds rotate and swirl. Recalling the transcience of bloom, it counters the mechanised predictability of daily life. Petals and carpels shiver; mating rituals entice bees in overflows of enzymes, promiscuous encounters in which the beauty of plants reveals nature’s mastery. Nature is beautiful—beautiful beyond comprehension. But, as Esther Leslie asks, what are the distinctions in creativity between nature and art? Is nature artistic, is she a real artist? Marks of the brush trace paths on cold surfaces and in layered dabbings; oil paint sinks into paper and the colours of soils deepen, replacing pinks and ochres. Something bulges and spills—words, rhymes—something asks to be buried.

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Argišt Alaverdyan
In my artistic practice, I focus on painting, in which I depict fictional worlds as the interconnection and blurring of different realities. By translating these worlds into an abstract and/or metaphorical form, I reflect on game principles as well as social and environmental issues. The complex network of relationships interweaving the biological, technological and digital spheres in the Life Interface set of images refers to the need to explore the interactions we create in the context of the constant interconnection between technology and the natural world. Individual entities expand their maps, bodies or components, which are constantly transformed and redefined, creating new connections, boundaries and forms. The difficult-to-identify entities that appear to float or mirror between the merging spatial dimensions in the Flowing Positions set of images can be seen as forces that connect or blur different realities. The images play with the idea of expecting new forms of reality, in which our perception can finally dissolve in endless illusions.

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Alexandra Barth
Let’s take a look at Čepan’s review of Milan Laluha. I’ll use his text ‘On the verge of reality and myth’ (Laluha’s Painting Formula)1. The reasons stand in mutual contradiction: the employment of irrational defiance inspires rationality with defiance already inherent in it. Aside from other meanings, defiance in this sense means an opposition to local non-affinity of tastes.
Laluha calls home, the ambience of which is heavy with doom and gloom. In the case of Alexandra, I’ve already written about koinobita2 or the character of the painting by virtue of which or via which “it’s possible to live” and thus “live through it”. Koinobita comes in various forms, but what’s certain is that Laluha’s paintings (for contemporary urbanites of Alexandra’s generation?) give off the impression that “it’s not possible to live and thus live through it” with these artworks; perhaps it’s just that together with Galandovci he’s not presenting a sufficiently appealing lifestyle? It’s strikingly disconcerting when the feeling of inability to endure seeps into the artwork of the painter, whose oeuvre is linked to the “expression of Slovakness” or the local quality, and we’re looking the other way.
Galandovci stood in a circle, holding themselves by shoulders and looking at paintings from behind the curtain: a ghettoisation and isolation. Július Koller, their coeval, made a “living symptom” of himself in contrast, mirroring the structure around himself in contrast to Galandovci, whose paintings are reflecting themselves. Central- and Eastern-European isolation doesn’t apply only to the drafting of forms and incomprehensibility but rather our “unwillingness to look” stemming from what Cepan, leaving in a Škoda car, attributes at the end of his text to gossip (OČ); the state of being disgusted. The willingness to look, or its lack thereof, originate from the closeness of artwork, the syntheticism of painting, which informs the “duration of gaze”, but not because of the „lustrousness” present in Alexandra’s and Milan’s works. The duration of gaze still carries great weight when it comes to paintings (perhaps even more so in the age in which attention has become a luxury).

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Pavla Dundálková
She looked up at the window and saw only the passing of time. Everyone needs certain conditions to live. Things were different in Bertold Brecht’s time than today. Entitles and rights dug like thorns into her soft skin. She typed her name into Google. Over the years, information has been hierarchised in different ways, the algorithm has changed without this being visible in its instantiation. At first glance everything remained the same. She opened the box and walked deep into the forest. The path turned into a trail. The trail dissolved into dense undergrowth from which the rustling of hidden animals could be heard. She wanted to coax a few dryads, though she knew not why. She hadn’t even seen their silhouette yet. Brokilon was silent. She set up camp for the evening. She sat staring into the darkness of the chest. She chewed foxglove on her tired, aching body. When she awoke in the morning, they stood silently around her. Slender and blending into their trees. One by one they told her that the sight of soil, dirt, mud and cracked earth gave them the greatest pleasure. The soil has its suppleness, its colour, its texture and its latent shape. They feel a piece of the whole world in the palm of their hands. What excites them the most is the space inside, where the soil comes alive and the seed becomes the germ for photosynthesis and new life. So they feel included in its course. The parable of the cave is turned inside out. The stalactites and stalagmites were eating into the open space. Truth has divided itself into too many simultaneous and individually undemanding tasks. There are doors that have been closed until the end of the world. Marek Meduna (extract)

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Masha Kovtun
In my diploma work, I focused on the metaphorical concept of “євроремонт” (European reconstruction) with an emphasis on how the concept of Europe is fixed and reflected in the internal space of Ukraine and how it coexists with the ideologically charged material dimensions of the post-socialist state. This continued my long-standing interest in exploring Ukrainian murals, which depict views of European cities and are a common interior feature of many apartments in Ukraine. These paintings on the walls overlooking European cities represent for me the representation of a dream – a view that is as if within reach yet separated by an imaginary wall. One can easily recognize in them the burden of “evroremont” and dreams of new facades behind which a new European reality will grow. It is an escape into an illusion, into a dream life surrounded by backdrops. The presentation of my diploma was a performance where the entire story was created by text that started with sentences: “I looked at the sunset for so long that my eyes started to water. It felt like walking down a wild path, overgrown with tall grass, where no one had ever walked before.” – Those sentences are the best description of the paintings I’m working on now, where the figures exist in a liminal space, balancing between beauty and brutality, shadow and light, home and foreign lands.

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Richard Nikl
stalo – nestalo se
it happened – it didn’t happen
In the post-factual era in which inconvenient truths are countered with alternative facts, science suddenly finds itself in a crisis of justification. In the echo chambers and lie factories of the digital space, facts become fiction and vice versa.
In Richard Nikl’s “soft diagrams”, digitally rendered paintings from printed layers and painterly touch ups of which four are on display in his presentation at stone projects, the artist gives a certain softness to seemingly hard facts. In the form of graphs and mind maps, it is an attempt to grasp the outlines of flapping ideas without shapes.
Referencing Parametricism, an architectural style based on algorithms and flowing forms, Nikl’s paintings are composed of curves, sticks, grids, holes, cells, roots, fibers, and bubbles. Along the brain like structures text is horizontally and vertically spread, connecting lose fragments and words like synapsis. This psychological layer is resolved by one or the other cartoonish Shrek moments: warts and pimples from monster stories and fairytale frogs sit on the surface and look at you.
The text snippets are quoted from Czech literature, opera, and theatre, among them the writers Ludvík Vaculík and Václav Havel, both civil rights activists against the communist regime of Czechoslovakia in the 1960s and 1970s. Nikl works with original language, mostly his mother tongue. Through the variety of typefaces (including the handwriting of the artist) the text turns into an image, all the more for an international audience.

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David Vojtuš
Série
Samsung QLED
Modelová řada
DAVID VOJTUŠ
Rozměry a hmotnost
Šířka: 101 cm
Výška: 88 cm
Hloubka: *
* Příměr o hloubce evropské kultury byl zavržena ve prospěch možností povrchu. Sociální sítě bují v ploše. Popkultura je leskem její hladiny. A hloubka byla a je vždy jen online manikúrou maskující značný díl tyčící se moci.
Výška bez podstavce: Rolling Stone Projects
Hmotnost: 22 kg
Uchycení: Polystyrénová tvarovka
Úhlopříčka a rozlišení
Úhlopříčka: 140 cm
Maximální rozlišení: 8K Ultra Ultra High Lit
Obrazovkkka
Technologie: Swag, Flex
Podsvícení: Direct LED
Obnovovací frekvence panelu 24 Hour
Další vlastnosti obrazu HDR
Podporované HDR standardy HDR10+, IOS
Slyšel jsem, že David Vojtuš využívá recyklovaného materiálu. S dovětkem, že tak nečiní, aby demonstroval svou ekologickou bezúhonnost, ale protože recyklovaný materiál může být hledím, kterým lze spatřit některé opomíjené části naší současnosti. Mnozí říkají, že David Vojtuš odmítá jednoznačně identifikovatelná témata, nevypráví, nezobrazuje, neilustruje. Prý se snaží spíše budovat materiálové analogie, vždyť životní styl a kultura je spjatá s hmotou, s její pomalou i rychlou proměnou, s hořením i klubáním kukel.
Na internetu psali, že mnozí mladí lidé se na svých instagramových profilech věnují nejrůznější ruční činnosti. Vaří, zahradničí, pečou, tkají koberce, a také vaří, pletou, řezají, dlabou, vyšívají, a mimo jiné vaří, fermentují, hnětou, okopávají, šijí, vytáčejí, kreslí, či cvičí. Dotýkají se fyzického světa, upřednostňují zřetelně vznikající výsledek před neviditelnou prací pro netušené a vzdálené abstraktní celky. I David Vojtuš věnuje svou pozornost pečlivé a časově náročné práci. Intarzuje globalizací vyplavené struktury a doklady to našeho nerovnoměrně rozloženého blahobytu.
