Beyond the White Horizon is an attempt at embodying modernity’s illusory attempts to catalogue, classify, and rationalize the world which surrounds us.
I travelled to Daugavpils in October 2012, to photograph the town where Mark Rothko was born, and which he left in 1910, at the age of ten, never to return.
Throughout the duration of my stay in Rothko’s native town, I kept asking myself: “to what extent is photography capable of enlightening a man’s life?”. This interrogation stemmed from the awareness that photography’s ever-growing presence in our visual culture has led us to believe that practically everything might be illustrated or even explained by a single image, that the wealth of the world may be accounted by photography, perhaps even that a photograph may come to replace the written word, the narrative, become self-sufficient.
And while I was walking the streets and alleys of Daugavpils, I came to the conclusion that the enlightening power of photography could actually be quite weak, all the more when thinking of the life of a man as Mark Rothko.
Phoenix is a paradoxical book. As the mythical bird after which it is named, it is born again from its very ashes. It is a book which contains at the same time the documentation of its own inception and destruction. What is more, it is its very destruction which forms the basis of its own existence.
The Tehran Museum for Contemporary Art provided a provocative context for Nicolas Grospierre’s work created for the kurz/dust exhibition, shown at the Warsaw Center for Contemporary Art. A late modernist structure designed by Kamran Diba, and inaugurated in 1977 on Queen Farah Pahlavi’s commission, the Tehran Museum stores an outstanding collection of Western modern art objects, Only a couple of these works are currently on view, while 99% of the artworks bought with the state fund out of National Iranian Oil Company which has benefited from high revenue from raised prices and heavily exploited oil production in the 1970s. are – as they say – “collecting dust” in the museum’s storage. They are carefully preserved and prevented from circulation by Revolutionary Guards’ commission, which forbids both entertaining and making profit out of indecent content. The museum operates by showing mainly Iranian artists, occasionally in the company of international artists.
Grospierre, with his interest in changing concepts of power as embodied in architectural projects, uses photography here in its factual modus operandi – as a mere reflection. The object photographed and turned into a black mirror again, is Noriyuki Haraguchi’s piece Matter and Mind. The minimalist installation, a rectangular pool filled with oil is located in one of the Museum’s underground atriums and keeps on reflecting the changes through the whole museum’s history. It references heavily both the contemporary radical gesture of plasticity and a traditional internal gathering space of a Persian garden. Oil: the result of the decomposition of organisms without the access of air (analogue to dust – the result of aridity in entropic processes) seems in this context like an undercurrent of a cultural history of international relations and cultural exchange.
The collection, which grows is based on the idea that a series of photographs should be organised in such a way that each successive photograph in the series is the result of the previous one and would be impossible without it. I have in the past already used this concept for two works: The picture, which grows (2011) and The house, which grows (2012). Metaphorically, one could compare this idea to the growth of a tree: first comes the trunk, then the branches, and then the leaves. And it is impossible for the leaves to grow with branches, not the branches without the trunk.
In The collection, which grows, this concept is used in its simplest form, and yet one which is perhaps the most demanding. The first image of The collection which grows (photo #0) represents an anonymous grey space, unidentifiable. This photograph forms the basis onto which the series will grow. Indeed, the second photograph (photo #1) represents a gallery space, where photo #0 is hanging on the wall. The third photograph (photo #2) represents another gallery space, where photo #0 and photo#1 are hanging next to each other, and each next picture reproduces the same procedure. One can see in each next photograph how the series, the collection of photographs is actually growing, as they hang side by side.
Still, this concept is most demanding, technically, as it requires each time more wall space. But it is also demanding because, for the series to grow, the project need to be shown in different but real (i.e. not staged) exhibitions. In other words, the longer the series, the more the project will have been invited by curators to different exhibitions, and the more notorious it shall be. This is something the author of the project has no control over.
Through the looking-glass is a site-specific installation achieved as part of the Artloop festival in the Baltic sea resort town of Sopot, Poland.
Olga Mokrzycka and I were invited to create a work which would be installed in a quite singular setting, the Berger Villa: a quasi-abandoned 1900’s mansion located in one of the residential neighbourhoods of Sopot. Most parts of this neo-renaissance villa, built in 1881, have been disused for the last decades, and the derelict looking building sits nowadays amongst tick bushes that used to be a well-tended garden.
The side of the mansion was adorned with a majestic stained-glass orangery, at the centre of which stood a fountain, and where exotic trees could be enjoyed during the cold winter days. It stands completely empty today: the fountain is dried up, and the walls are greyish-brown with accumulated dust. It is this space we were offered to use for our installation.
Observing this orangery, Olga and I realised that putting any kind of alien work of art would destroy the eerie poetry of this place. We decided thus to create a quasi-invisible work, whose effect would only emphasise the orangery’s delicate state of ruin.

































































