At first glance, the term “gauge,” which defines the exact value needed for a vehicle or object to move freely and without collision along a designated route, doesn’t quite capture what an exhibition with this title might be about. At the same time, the idea of using a word from a slightly different realm and filling it with entirely new meanings seemed incredibly tempting. In this context, “gauge” becomes a metaphor for interpreting space, where what’s on the sidelines effectively distracts our attention, forcing us to stray from the designated path and open ourselves to what we might find beyond it. The exhibition romanticizes the element of the road and the journey, where what we may experience becomes a pretext for questioning the meaning and nature of our desires.

Artyści

  • Klaudia Figura
  • Zuza Piekoszewska

Miejsce

14.02.2025 - 03.04.2025
Zakończone

In Klaudia’s works, scat­te­red objects domi­na­te: papers, old han­dw­rit­ten let­ters, and note­bo­oks. Arti­facts of someone’s bygo­ne life, an inti­ma­te exi­sten­ce, immer­sed in tall gras­ses or dri­fting in a shal­low stre­am. Rusted keys that were once syno­ny­mo­us with power and order now lie use­less, and the secrets they once guar­ded in loc­ked dra­wers seem no lon­ger to inte­rest any­one. Klau­dia cre­ates a world whe­re aban­do­ned ruins and scat­te­red rem­nants appe­ar stran­ge­ly ali­ve, imbu­ed with a sur­re­al ener­gy. The sub­du­ed, some­ti­mes even glo­omy color palet­te of the works con­fronts us with silen­ce and emp­ti­ness, whe­re our own exi­sten­ce ceases to be some­thing extra­or­di­na­ry.

In one of Zuza’s pain­tings, we see a snow-cove­red shack bare­ly hol­ding on aga­inst the wind’s gusts. It’s a shel­ter for small insects, not much dif­fe­rent from one we might build for our­se­lves. This make­shift, fra­gi­le form also appe­ars in Klaudia’s work, depic­ting the wall of an old shed with gaps pat­ched up with straw. The exhi­bi­tion almost enti­re­ly lacks human figu­res, altho­ugh we sen­se the­ir pre­sen­ce and the effects of the­ir acti­vi­ty. In the pain­ting “Edward,” inste­ad of a per­son, we see only the sha­dow of an elder­ly man with a stick slung over his sho­ul­der. This motif also appe­ars in Zuza’s work, whe­re a sack suspen­ded in spa­ce direc­tly evo­kes tho­ughts abo­ut esca­ping from one’s cur­rent life. The redu­ced form of this com­po­si­tion ine­vi­ta­bly prompts us to ask what we our­se­lves would want to take with us and what would be the most essen­tial thing.

This meta­phy­si­cal expe­rien­ce pla­ces each of us in the role of a wan­de­rer who must embark on the­ir own inter­nal jour­ney. In most of Zuza Piekoszewska’s works, the pro­cess of trans­for­ma­tion beco­mes evident—an explo­ra­tion of per­ma­nen­ce and how objects chan­ge the­ir meaning when they lose the­ir ori­gi­nal pur­po­se. The artist’s abs­tract assem­bla­ges evo­ke a sen­se of nostal­gia for some­thing very sim­ple; they are a matrix of ear­ly, chil­dho­od expe­rien­ces with textu­re. Despi­te using very basic mate­rials such as pla­ster, grass, and seeds, the works appe­ar high­ly hap­tic. The exhi­bi­tion is suf­fu­sed with an atmo­sphe­re of unre­ali­ty, as tho­ugh we’ve ente­red ano­ther zone whe­re we reco­gni­ze things and objects rec­la­imed by natu­re, but they have now beco­me cre­ations of other ener­gies.

“Gau­ge” rema­ins a meta­phor for a spa­ce whe­re we are no lon­ger able to con­trol any­thing, whe­re we are hel­pless in the face of the fact that we, too, are pas­sing. The jour­ney is over. Welco­me to the inn of eter­nal hel­ples­sness.
/​Prze­mek Sowiń­ski

In coope­ra­tion with Łęc­two Gal­le­ry, Poznań

Zuza Pie­ko­szew­ska (b. 1996)

A gra­du­ate of the Uni­ver­si­ty of the Arts in Poznań and the Aca­de­my of Art in Szcze­cin. Her works have been exhi­bi­ted at venu­es such as Zachę­ta (2021), BWA Wro­cław (2023), GIG Munich (2022), Who is Pola/​Pola Magne­tycz­ne (2024). She cre­ates objects in which she explo­res the con­nec­tions betwe­en humans and natu­re, focu­sing pri­ma­ri­ly on death and the decay of coexi­sting beings. Zuza has an extra­or­di­na­ry gift for sen­sing things that are not ali­ve. Forms that seem fro­zen still pul­se with a cer­ta­in micro-acti­vi­ty, which beco­mes more per­cep­ti­ble the more time you spend obse­rving them clo­se­ly. At first glan­ce, it might seem insi­gni­fi­cant. Howe­ver, Zuza­’s works evo­ke memo­ries and echo­es of fun­da­men­tal past ener­gies, trig­ge­ring that pecu­liar feeling when you beco­me acu­te­ly awa­re of your own pre­sen­ce. To per­ce­ive this spe­ci­fic kind of emo­tion in things, you need distan­ce. Objects must lose the­ir ori­gi­nal func­tion and the meaning we assign to them in eve­ry­day expe­rien­ce. They then ope­ra­te on the bor­der­li­ne betwe­en two worlds—rationality and use­les­sness, life and the taking of life. Zuza­’s prac­ti­ce evo­kes, abo­ve all, a sen­se of pas­sing, which never tru­ly ends with death.

Klau­dia Figu­ra (b. 2000)

In my arti­stic prac­ti­ce, I main­ly use sculp­tu­re and pain­ting. I often make use of che­ap and readi­ly ava­ila­ble mate­rials: ready-mades, self-dry­ing clay, epo­xy resin, and so-cal­led cold por­ce­la­in, a mass made up of pota­to starch and whi­te glue. With this sim­ple reci­pe, I mana­ge to sha­pe objects and orna­ments that appe­ar to be made from top shelf mate­rials.

I also enjoy wor­king with wood, metal, glass, and fabric. My fond­ness for DIY and cra­ft­sman­ship stems direc­tly from gro­wing up in the coun­try­si­de and the neces­si­ty of using vario­us reso­ur­ces, as well as from lear­ning tra­di­tio­nal cra­fts. I am absor­bed by sto­ries of appa­ri­tions, aber­ra­tions, and whims of natu­re gathe­red direc­tly from local anec­do­tes heard among fami­ly and friends.

I also find plen­ty of inspi­ra­tion onli­ne, fol­lo­wing questio­na­ble influ­en­cers, new-age Tik­Tok wit­ches, or sim­ply wat­ching short DIY vide­os with hacks for wood-resin table­tops. Thro­ugh my cre­ations I enjoy enga­ging in a for­mal play with the audien­ce — betwe­en what is real and arti­fi­cial, living and dead.

źró­dło: https://bwawarszawa.pl/skrajnia/