Living, dormant (2021) on paperiveistos muotista muodonmuuttajana ja todistamattomasta liikkeestä. Teos sai alkunsa saven palasesta, josta tein muotin. Valoin muottiin erilaisia mineraaleja, sieniä ja kipsiä. Puolen vuoden aikana teoksen värit olivat muutoksessa, tuntui kuin olisin nähnyt katsonut sedimenttien liikettä. Kuraattori Margarita Osepyan kirjoittaa teoksesta alla näyttelyn together, noting (2021) yhteydessä. Teksti on englanniksi.
Living, dormant (2021) is a paper sculpture about a mould as a shapeshifter and unwitnessed movement. The piece started out as a piece of red clay, that I made a mould out of. I casted the mould with plaster, minerals and fungi. Over a six month period the colors of the solid cast were slowly moving. It felt like watching the sediments move. Text below is written by curator Margarita Osepyan from the exhibition together, noting in (2021.)
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I cannot but decode this creature as a striking metaphor that represents a contemporary human being heading towards bio-digital convergence. This human is being systematically deprived of his/her will by ambivalent public discourses and drawn increasingly immaterial consumption. I can speculate a bit further extrapolating these trends and thus coming to their foreseeable product- a living inactive object of organic origin.
The overthrown subject will no longer be able and actually want to choose an individual attitude to the events around being happily installed in the soothing womb of the digital meta verse. It will no longer be able to determine its own fate by its own will, leaving such an evergy-consuming and illusory action to those who dare to stand in theory of real, not virtual Being.
Step by step, this altered living organism will shift from the vestiges of thinking to the basic information with its comrades that are also deprived of human rights. The exchange will remarked by post language, bounces and strokes.
The world will no longer be observed by a witness. And together with the witness, any narratives, big or small, will end up in the trash. There will be no one left to differentiate the chaotic blemishes of substance, there will be no one to assign names to the sun, or the sky or the human being.
