TROJAN CALVES
čugun
01/09-11/09/2021
a person can paint a goldfish, a carp, an eye and a galaxy, a freshwater symbol of christianity, any kind of living creature, that has served as inspiration to a rococo artisan, something crystallizes or simply a pearl in its shell, all of this can be, but someone will paint trump, piglet goes to the beginning, ing and yang, tefal pan goes around one's head in brackets, it reminds a rave face in japanese traditional architecture
once upon in an old fridge, beyond thirty nine banana and cucumber fields, someone thought of a turtle, the hospital wonderland was already forgotten and the field was sinking in water, corn was showing it’s head out of the three meter waves and in the winter an ice-hole was made around it, when you get into one, there’s a bent car hiding in the fog, but the scratched paint doesn’t get on the nerves, let’s eat lime cake, let’s drink peppermint tea and go swimming in the bog at six in the morning
that’s the perfect time to write poetry in the city, and crumple it, milk carton hides a figure, someone offers a flame, but that doesn’t help, spatial perception in the dirty mirror transfers between dimensions and it looks like the ghost of the crashed car, it’s like a piece of furniture that would be a shame to throw out and should be protected from dust, but the rag
underneath the blanket someone is riding a bike, fighting – for red and for blue, something is being born there, it’s the breaking point in a cloud, it is made of veins and arteries, it returns to the rhythm, when there’s nothing to be said, a full mouth – it’s a chocolate and gum paper, rub your skin against it and the wall and you have a graffiti that tells about the feeling you get when someone else closes your eyes
she sees that there’s something crazy going on in the forest, menstruation and fire, a gas can is not an amanita muscaria, but it is a raw steak, all that is red, it’s shape is secondary, it can be a poppy, or a communist, or jackie chan
and then, beneath the fur there’s peace, it extinguishes in a natural manner and an unnatural color, in a happy rave a first grade art class exercise “my summer”
Recording and notes were done in the time of the exhibition: story about the calves and their pastures was told by the exhibition visitors, it was written down by the author of the exhibition and gathered in this issue accompanied by exhibition soundtrack in a cd.
čugun in her works attempts to amalgamate different alchemical elements - body, spirit, ideas and their restrictions, especially their restrictions.
publisher Četrdesmit grādi
25 copies issued
2022
Photos: Beāte Gredzena
čugun
01/09-11/09/2021
a person can paint a goldfish, a carp, an eye and a galaxy, a freshwater symbol of christianity, any kind of living creature, that has served as inspiration to a rococo artisan, something crystallizes or simply a pearl in its shell, all of this can be, but someone will paint trump, piglet goes to the beginning, ing and yang, tefal pan goes around one's head in brackets, it reminds a rave face in japanese traditional architecture
once upon in an old fridge, beyond thirty nine banana and cucumber fields, someone thought of a turtle, the hospital wonderland was already forgotten and the field was sinking in water, corn was showing it’s head out of the three meter waves and in the winter an ice-hole was made around it, when you get into one, there’s a bent car hiding in the fog, but the scratched paint doesn’t get on the nerves, let’s eat lime cake, let’s drink peppermint tea and go swimming in the bog at six in the morning
that’s the perfect time to write poetry in the city, and crumple it, milk carton hides a figure, someone offers a flame, but that doesn’t help, spatial perception in the dirty mirror transfers between dimensions and it looks like the ghost of the crashed car, it’s like a piece of furniture that would be a shame to throw out and should be protected from dust, but the rag
underneath the blanket someone is riding a bike, fighting – for red and for blue, something is being born there, it’s the breaking point in a cloud, it is made of veins and arteries, it returns to the rhythm, when there’s nothing to be said, a full mouth – it’s a chocolate and gum paper, rub your skin against it and the wall and you have a graffiti that tells about the feeling you get when someone else closes your eyes
she sees that there’s something crazy going on in the forest, menstruation and fire, a gas can is not an amanita muscaria, but it is a raw steak, all that is red, it’s shape is secondary, it can be a poppy, or a communist, or jackie chan
and then, beneath the fur there’s peace, it extinguishes in a natural manner and an unnatural color, in a happy rave a first grade art class exercise “my summer”
Recording and notes were done in the time of the exhibition: story about the calves and their pastures was told by the exhibition visitors, it was written down by the author of the exhibition and gathered in this issue accompanied by exhibition soundtrack in a cd.
čugun in her works attempts to amalgamate different alchemical elements - body, spirit, ideas and their restrictions, especially their restrictions.
publisher Četrdesmit grādi
25 copies issued
2022
Photos: Beāte Gredzena