from end to end, there is nothing to obstruct the corridor. A condition for accessing the exhibition rooms, the corridor invites you to cross, as it would be on occasions of free visitation; however, something is noticeable, in the air, in the atmosphere retained from such airtight passage. Crossing it takes place without immersing the body in its oscillating illumination. Some of the luminaires distributed on the walls behave subtly intermittently; restless, now they falter in luminous intensity, now they threaten to blink, so as to appear as a possible defect; who knows omen; in any case, a strange circumstance, something to escape the purposeful functioning and flow expected for that room.

Result #1

from end to end, there is nothing to obstruct the corridor. A condition for accessing the exhibition rooms, the corridor invites you to cross, as it would be on occasions of free visitation; however, something is noticeable, in the air, in the atmosphere retained from such airtight passage. Crossing it takes place without immersing the body in its oscillating illumination. Some of the luminaires distributed on the walls behave subtly intermittently; restless, now they falter in luminous intensity, now they threaten to blink, so as to appear as a possible defect; who knows omen; in any case, a strange circumstance, something to escape the purposeful functioning and flow expected for that room. In a sense, a certain miracle occurs in the passage of time. That it cannot be predicted or foreseen is a hallmark of the media image of space: the room appears to be fluid, irregular, and always on the verge of collapse. To face such a stateliness, it is as though a vast space opened up, a space that no longer contained the mass of something, a space whose elasticity and possibility of disruption produce its paradoxical ideal, that of an image of the room as a completely closed space. But all this happens without the gaze of the spectator. It takes place instead by the repetition of a continuous operation of presence. The work is the object of a partial vision, that of the silent and circumspect presence of the viewer, of the audience that gives the work visibility, as though in a mirror, that gives the viewers prior independence, his or her own specific contribution to the image. The visitors eye is made to question, to look, to contemplate. At this point, the image, once expressed by an image, disappears. Here the place and time of the exhibition no longer exist; they are erased and reconstructed by the spectator. The space in question is in the very fabric of the space in which the space that was, is, and will be can be experienced. We become the passive recipients of a miracle. The room has completely vanished, but nothing is erased, nothing is blotted out. What remains is only the possibility of entering the room and contemplating. An image of the space that has not yet existed, that is yet not recognized by any material reality, is passed by the spectator, in the same way that the spectator can once again pass the work of art by an image of the other. The room of photography establishes this same relation between the spectator and the work of art. It establishes that both can be regarded as already accomplished and yet to be photographed.

Result #2

What is troubling about this work is not the possibility of going against the rules of movement in order to experience the solidity of the image, but the difficulty of the contemplation of an image which is not always perfectly clear, because of the presence of the artist.

Result #3

from end to end, there is nothing to obstruct the corridor. A condition for accessing the exhibition rooms, the corridor invites you to cross, as it would be on occasions of free visitation; however, something is noticeable, in the air, in the atmosphere retained from such airtight passage. Crossing it takes place without immersing the body in its oscillating illumination. Some of the luminaires distributed on the walls behave subtly intermittently; restless, now they falter in luminous intensity, now they threaten to blink, so as to appear as a possible defect; who knows omen; in any case, a strange circumstance, something to escape the purposeful functioning and flow expected for that room. It is a separate, extraneous, extraterritorial space, a key of unknown value. The object of the activity, who is a stranger?The slippage between objective appearance and subjective state is the intention of the participants in these sculptures, who are there to participate in a process, but not to interact with each other. As the spectator, I am offered a key that is also a key, but not in the sense that it becomes a part of the work. All the figurines on the walls consist of thin, fragile material; they are a challenge to take with a hand. The wooden crates are thorns. They do not care whether you approach; instead, they are used as a mirror, a figure, and a label, and they evoke a fear of identification. The problem of the figurines—of the problem of a figurative body and the relation between the body and the painted form—is addressed in the installations of Lukáš Stilinović and Svetlana Zápipatović.In their works, the Lithuanian artists have inserted some kinds of media into a constellation of the everyday, between the home and the factory. The use of color, the verticality of containers, the disappearance of borders, and the appearance of a visual equivalent to the physical separation of people: these are factors to be considered in relation to the show. The empty, unstable space created by the partitions that delineate the galleries brings to mind the original walls that separated the industrial and the rural. But it is precisely here that Stilinović and Zápipatović decide to mix and transform the outside and the inside of a space that is made visible. The fragmentation of an interior space by a block of glass constitutes an invitation to walk through it. The imagination of the gallery can be said to operate within this space; it is neither really inside nor outside, but rather like a curtain.

Result #4

from end to end, there is nothing to obstruct the corridor. A condition for accessing the exhibition rooms, the corridor invites you to cross, as it would be on occasions of free visitation; however, something is noticeable, in the air, in the atmosphere retained from such airtight passage. Crossing it takes place without immersing the body in its oscillating illumination. Some of the luminaires distributed on the walls behave subtly intermittently; restless, now they falter in luminous intensity, now they threaten to blink, so as to appear as a possible defect; who knows omen; in any case, a strange circumstance, something to escape the purposeful functioning and flow expected for that room. Here, the luminaires, as they must be called, are arranged to gather their illumination as one would expect them to perform; they are not made to stand apart, to face each other in isolation. Thus, the audience is presented with a room, which one does not enter, but can only enter at the beginning of the exhibition. This makes us enter it.But the beginning of the room is empty, and one has to pass through a brick wall into it. I thought I was entering a normal space, but then I noticed a bit of dirt. It was a completely foreign discovery. What has happened? The dirt, which we saw walking in, had been found on the floor. Who knows whether we should have thought of it, but that dirt, a substance native to the landscape of Barcelona, in all its irregularity, was now a tile surface. The space in which we had just been, in fact, given the first opportunity to look, was no longer that of any ordinary space, but a museum space. And then the dirt, on top of our head, as if by magic, became a part of the place, like the heavy glazes of stone or a sewn cloth; then the same happened in the marble floor, which had been raised up to the level of the wall, and even had the outer edge of the brick wall, like a plug. A luminous space has appeared. Its presence is part of the experience we have in the museum; the curiosity to enter it, to test our perceptual powers and make them more effective, keeps us on the perimeter of the piece, suspended between perceptions that trigger our senses, that give us sensation. And it is this sensation that is sustained by our continuous experience of the space. One continually feels that it has something to do with what is not there, that is out of reach. It is a wonderful sensation, and one that is cherished, and perhaps lost.

Result #5

from end to end, there is nothing to obstruct the corridor. A condition for accessing the exhibition rooms, the corridor invites you to cross, as it would be on occasions of free visitation; however, something is noticeable, in the air, in the atmosphere retained from such airtight passage. Crossing it takes place without immersing the body in its oscillating illumination. Some of the luminaires distributed on the walls behave subtly intermittently; restless, now they falter in luminous intensity, now they threaten to blink, so as to appear as a possible defect; who knows omen; in any case, a strange circumstance, something to escape the purposeful functioning and flow expected for that room. Further in this direction, a dark cone that extends out from the right wall also stands as an inviting sign of potentially inviting illumination. The cone is made of metal, on top of a very heavy construction, and is linked by a vertical barrier of metal bars. The center is made of two triangles: one is made of material that rises up from the ground, the other of metal that stretches from one point to another. The concentricity of the construction is the sign of an edifice of contact between things and the gallery space. In this sense the sculpture is also an ordinary stone with a spatial, weathered patina. It also comes into contact with the gallery space; not by any visible gestures, but by a physical contact made with the space itself. It is as if, the way the light sources illuminate each other, there are at once two optical systems that produce different intensities of light. In the light-dark continuum, they are seen in the space of the two sides of the cone and, on top of that, of the vertical barrier. The effect is as if one had entered the interior of the cone, at the center, and was stepping onto its surface; in the dark and unpredictable ambiance, they appear as part of the same operation. There is a very precise intention: the transformation of a spatial system, through the two-dimensional material substance, into an actual physical structure. The contact here is that of a visitor and his space, which is a spatial space whose functionality is corroborated by the external form of the work. One has a certain freedom of movement, as well as a certain freedom of examining the work and discovering the light. Finally, one has a feeling of security, in the sense that the work seems to suggest a possible escape from the possibility of being ruled by the world.In this way we find ourselves in the midst of the emergence of a new concept of architecture.

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