Tatjana Bezjak
Photo Boris Debić
Born on August 3rd, 1971. in Zagreb, Croatia.
Graduated sculpture at the Academy Of Fine Arts, Zagreb.
Graduated School of Applied Art And Design.
Exhibits in Croatia and abroad. Author of the novel ‘X’.
Lives and works in Zagreb.
EXHIBITIONS
SOLO
GROUP
PUBLIC SCULPTURES
BOOK
RESIDENCE
AWARDS
P O R T F O L I O
FRACTALS
Photo Boris Cvjetanović
Natural forms and formations make up the starting point for our observation and deliberation, as if germ or root, from which spatial drawings are to spring. Starting point and germ, well spring and origin, what has been primordially inscribed in our very selves as drawing, structure and form, and at an abstract level as consciousness. The drawings of our thoughts, feelings, consciousness, and our unconscious and subconscious being, are similar and subject to the same laws of incessant coming-into-being, growth, movement, swirling, branching, connecting up, networking; fractality, which we see in nature. It is all one, we are live fractals in majestic space-time manifestations of the living universe.
Each individual story is a record and drawing, each feeling, is one more stroke, drawn thicker or thinner, with stronger or lighter pressure, coloured more gloomily or brighter – in an aggregate.
How much we ourselves are exceeded by the great aggregate, how much it passes the borders of our understanding, we are able only to wonder. Here our knowledge and awareness come up sharp against the dark matter of the eternal mystery.
A leaf the capillaries of which repeat the structure of the tree – the trunk, the branch, the twig, the root, the hair root, their bifurcation, branching and spreading, is like the blood circulation, with its arteries, veins and capillaries. The circulation of the blood is like the veins of earth – its watercourses; its rivers, streams, brooks and tributaries, capillaries. The watercourse is like the patterns of electricity, lighting and electrical discharge. The structures of electricity are similar to neurological synapses. Criss-crossed neurons are like the webs of the spider, nets and ness. Threads of fine gossamer cover the wings of beetles. The contours of beetle wings mirror the contours of germs and seeds, drops and droplets.
The lines of the grains of trees, the lines of the layers of the earth, the lines of sand dunes, of hair, the lines of wrinkles; they are copied and are multiplied, the lines of space and time wind into infinity.
The circular and spiral forms of finger and foot prints, the waving and curling of hair and animals’ fur, the spiral forms of bivalves and snails, the vertical arrangements of petals and leaves. The formations of schools of fish and flocks of birds – living curves in motion, twists, spirals and vortices through air and water. The curves of high waves, centrifugal and centripetal forces, phenomena such as whirlpools, cyclones and anticyclones, twisters and hurricanes. The symmetries of electrons around the nuclei, the orbits of planets around the stars, the trajectory of solar systems around the centre of the galaxies. The galaxies in their circular, ellipsoid and vertical formations, sucking in black holes.
The invocation of consciousness – the spiral of mind and spirit, from the ancient myth of chaos – “the endless space in which, without any order, there are the elements of which the world comes into being”, via the philosophical look into the “faceless primordial substance that the spirit gave shape”, with its spiral orbit off into the unknown, via dark matter and black holes, and deeper, to the very heart of the unknowable and the inconceivable.
The relocated and transformed calligraphy of nature – its beauty put into the world of a visual game, into just one human frame, among the walls of the gallery, writes out its morphology of hand and pattern, builds up its interrelations, its reality. New and changeable – with just a change of angle of vision, by shifting of the body, by movement, the drawings get into each other, overlap, merge and fuse. The human spirit and body are live structures, with their presence, movement and experience they inhabit the empty space of the drawing and their surroundings in an incessant alternation of form and perspective.
translated by Graham McMaster
Photo Daia K. Cindrić
Photo Boris Debić
Photo Boris Debić
Photo Boris Debić
Flight is the nature of Winged Ones. As well as it is of the atoms — one entire universe, tiny, invisible, vibrates on and on through the ages, tirelessly. Flight — man's eternal aspiration. Wings which would make him fly — still an elusive human dream. However, human experiences of free flight in a dream, equivalent of avian flight with wings, are often so vivid, so pleasurable, so real experiences. It is somewhat unusual, because our senses had never experienced such flight, those kind of experiences did not pull roots from material reality — none of us flew like birds. Unless such flight is real, really real, on some other level of existence, on some level that we have preserved in deep layers of our memory. Although, on the other hand, we fly all the time even without wings, even in our own, materia and gravity conditioned reality — we consist of atoms, and their nature is actually flight. Electrons fly over a large space of probability around the nucleus, somewhat similar to orbiting satellites around planets, planets around stars, all the celestial bodies around the bright darkness of galactic centers, while the galaxies themselves are also flying somewhere. We are flying constantly and always, but we do not feel that flight, as we can not sense the micro-ingredients of our own building material with our eyes, nor the vast expanse of sky above our heads, but only one bit of it, just one indication and hint of its depth. From the less visible, finer cobwebby threads, from the bolder and heavier strokes, all along to the highlighted contours of dense ink, in front of the whitewashed walls, the spatial calligraphy of the Winged Ones lays out. Calligraphy, bloodstream, nerve sheaves — which to get through, neuron network with its connections, consciousness and subconsciousness in its branching, treetops, roots, leafs structures, petals, insects wings. Light — its spectrum, intensity and orientation — transforms Winged Ones from positive to negative, from skeleton to aura. Light also causes the appearance of colors — effect of light breaking against the iron surface. Directly illuminated by a powerful beam of light or set in a dark environment, the Winged Ones can take on the eterical look — in that case they either reflect a light of intensive shine or they barely outline. In the exchange of brightness and dimming, in the exchange of fullness and void, of the interstitials created by the rhythmic intersectioning of the spiral lines, the Winged Ones are nothing more than the apparition, barely discerned events, or they could become these any time. As if they're not iron made. Winged Ones materiality — where it begins, and where it ends, where is a transition or a frontier separating a world of ideas and spirit, with a winged, weightless world — is not clear. Winged Ones evoke knowledge of the diversity of nature within one and the same being, because the appearance of the Winged Ones is manifoldly variable by the movement and alteration of an eye position of a viewer, and thus Winged Ones can have an infinite number of their appearances. As alive, the moving and exchanging foreheads and backgrounds, our bodies and our movements through gallery space are replacing the whiteness of the gallery walls, creating various structures and colors of Winged Ones. Colors and motions, faces and bodies, inhabit now their calligraphy, dynamizing their volumes, leafing of, their intertwining, twisting, spreading and shrinking. We are entering each others. A walk from world to world, from body to body, as in the ancient myths of souls migrations. In that interrelation of the pervasion, a being is always a new whole. A permeable whole, equally determined by fullness and void, internal and external, light and shade, stillness and movement, like throughput of sleep and awakeness, grounding and flight, imagined and accomplished. A walk from world to world, from body to body, as in the ancient myths of souls migrations. In that interrelation of permeation, a being is always a new whole. A permeable whole, it's equivalently determined by fullness and void, internal and external, light and shade, stillness and movement, like permeability of sleep and awakeness, grounding and flight, the imagined and accomplished. The Winged Ones continue the multi-millennium tradition of research and expression of universal human preoccupations and aspirations, thoughts and feelings, instincts and desires — in the history recorded through myths and legends, philosophy and religion, rituals and customs, literature and art. Winged beings are archetypes and legacy of ancestors. Humanoid winged beings and phenomena, ghosts and deities, gods and goddesses, sirens and angels, fairies and elves, demons and devils, tell their stories and promote their symbolism through all cultures, they are a part of the great treasure of world's heritage. Winged creatures defile through history, from incarnated light/love — like Eros, creation/resurrection — like the great wizardess Isis, to the darkest and the deepest buried human urges of destruction, personified in Tanatos, Gorgona or Lucifer. There are also winged beings of ambivalent or gray zones like Morpheus, the god of switching shapes, master of dreams, or Erinyes, goddesses of revenge and curses, but also of justice. We encounter all of these diverse and opposed values and colors of character, both in the constant transformation of the Winged Ones — due to body motions and changing of viewpoints — so in our daily lives as well, very often even unified within the same being, and sometimes the look in the mirror catches us by surprise. Flight is the nature of the Winged Ones, but flight is also the cosmic law and as such, it is imprinted in us primordially. Flight in a dream may have been the secret and hidden reason of the presence of winged beings through a long history. The dreams in which I was flying freely were a trigger and a mover, a mystery, the kind of inner experience that is transmitted and spreads far and deeply into the world of wakefulness, inspiring and ennobling it. The dream flight sparked observation and recognition of bonds and connections unconditioned by time and space, and is a living example of permeability of the worlds. Archaically speaking — a story about the Winged Ones, the flight and the dreams, is a story about awakening of the soul. The resonance of the inner truth about things — from electrons to galaxies, we fly always and constantly.
Winged One F, 98 x 66 x 53 cm
Winged One I, 116 x 25 x 34 cm
PARALLEL ONE
Parallel One is the review of the most transformative thoughts, experiences and feelings, several years of living summed up in the personal three-dimensional memorabilia.
An intimately important reminder of the universal truthfulness of the insight that a man is his own light — Buddha's last words addressed to his disciples from his deathbed, but also a reminder of the mutual permeation of all beings and of all that exists in the universe.
As we inhale and exhale the same molecules of air for millennia — thus also we share the experiences of all those who were and of all those who will be in an endless recycling.
The Couple, Room with the View, and Parallel One point to the number two, the number of a pair and duality. The principle of polarity is a principle of the universe, but only at one level — what appear to be opposites are actually two extremes of the same phenomena.
The Couple — the woman and her shadow are a pair of opposites within the same being — she walks stepping on her own shadow — light and shadow are two poles of the same world.
Of the two Moons in the Room with the View, the one in the sky and the one in the reflection, both are perhaps illusions, while reality conceals a third Moon.
Or the fourth or fifth, or tenth, or thousandth; the observer externally observes the observer from the inside, and as we observe him, we are being observed by the observer who is observed by the observer, and so every following observer sees more and thus what is a view towards inside for the preceding observer, is a view from the outside for the succeeding one. The source is always further than the seen, for a step, two, three, ten, a thousand.
Room with the View has the Moon and star constellations drawn on its roof. This Moon is the circular opening through which the view into the interior of the room is enabled. The small figure lies on the floor facing the ceiling.
The light of stars, and the depth of the sky, are a state of mind — freedom is a state of mind even when a physical space is a prison without doors-exits, like in this Room with the View, and when the Moon is just an aperture in the ceiling through which light, and perhaps someone's gaze from the outside enters. The gaze from the outside, through the aperture/Moon, reveals the Moon inside.
That Moon from the inside is the light, but it is also the eye that watches. From the inside, the Moon is the light as the ceiling aperture is doubled in the reflection of the prison floor that hides the mirror, transforming the prison, along with the stars — ceiling perforations, into a celestial temple.
The Moon is the eye of that one and the same observer because the observer looks at their own eye in the mirror. Perhaps the observer will notice their own eye, and perhaps not, because all of their attention would be taken away by the figure or by the space of the room, yet the eye is here to see itself.
In the physical lens of that same eye is also the reflection, as well as in the reflection of that reflection.
A prison or a temple, an aperture or a Moon, a Moon or an eye, an eye or a reflection of an eye, inside or outside, an illusion or reality, a finality or an infinity — only the viewpoint makes a difference.
A quote from my dream whose activity was unfolding indoors, without a visible exit: "It doesn't matter that there are no windows or doors, I'll float out through the ceiling." And then take-off, passing through the ceiling without resistance. And then elation, thanks to easily found liberation, despite such weak prospects. The thrill also lasts after waking up. The dream — one of those worth memorizing, the one that will always be on hand if needed, as a remedy against fear.
Parallel One — a female figure of wirely drawn contours that I placed within the edges of a cuboid drawn with wire — is shaping another female figure only reduced in size. The version reduced in size, she will place within the same kind of cuboid in which she herself is placed.
The figures exist in parallel — just as they are drawn, and as perhaps in a parallel reality, this scene multiplies infinitely.
In their recursion of space and form, Matryoshkas may give birth to one another endlessly, never to step out of their contours significantly.
Perhaps Parallel One has a transcendental role and spreads a message of breaking off the vicious circle of multiplying.
If there is a point in which "my life" moves in some other possible direction, no longer in parallel, drawing on entirely new forms, maybe this is the exactly that point?
Exciting is the thought of moving out of the drawings, the excitement is a potential plurality of the directions of movement, and even more exciting is the idea that we recreate ourselves in the way a sculpture is created, and that the same creative power is also valid for life. Or rather — it equals life.
The space drawing is woven and sewn by wire lines — from thicker ones, to wires as thin as thread.
Wire delineates the margins of the material cuboid space and simultaneously deletes them with the vortex of particles — by their moving through matter.
Fullness and void are just perceptual determinants.
Vortex is about that same creation that seeks self through new forms of thinking and experience, it is a vital energy that drives reality from an idea to its materialization. Vortex is awareness of outgrowing the contours of material givens of space and time, as the awareness of a reality of higher order. Awareness of the power of consciousness. Awareness of the universal potential of consciousness as an omnipresence, of its bonds and permeation with all of existing, as also the cause of all of the existence. Awareness as the existence itself.
Perhaps this is one of the universal principles of life itself as we know it; for example, the evolutionary development of animal adaptation is also preceded by, not quite the awareness or thought inherent to humanity, but by an aspiration/need to improve themselves in survival, and over time will the ultimate consequence of that need be actualized as a new bodily form and function.
Consciousness not only communicates with living beings and materializes their needs, it is their integral part, living beings themselves cause that same field of consciousness. If we continue further down the rabbit hole, non-living matter is also a product of that same consciousness, thus it is only conditionally speaking non-living. It is non-living only if the consciousness is not "alive", but if it is really not alive it would not create or recreate life.
The universe is awareness. Proactive.
Furthermore, quantum mechanics is on the same track, with our act of observation (consciousness) we are affecting the behavior of particles within a potential sea of possibilities.
We co-create the world already by being aware of the world, inasmuch as the world consequently responds with consciousness to our consciousness. What then is the outside world if not that same consciousness, that same one we call our/inner consciousness?
So then the interior-exterior-duality is an illusion/mimicry/deception? Whose deception? Deception of that same consciousness. In order to express itself, to experience the richness of the forms of existence, consciousness must be materialized. In order to make the diversity of materialization convincing to the materialized forms of existence, consciousness must create an illusion of separation, deceiving itself or rather the material aspects of its own self.
Is it possible that I am the fruit of a self-fertilising consciousness? That I am that same self-fertilising consciousness as everyone else and everything else, means I created my own self as well as everything else?
Unravels a tangle ball. At least it seems that way while holding it in hand. But the hand and the ball are intertwined. Where does one start and the other ends?
That same Thread that we unravel is exactly the one with which we unravel, the same one that makes us and whose we are the very substance. To untangle and to unravel the tangle of the world means to unravel oneself.
Noise is all around us, when we silence it, we hear somewhat of an inner life; of intuition, of dreams, of precognition, of imagination.
Vibration is the experience of a weightless elevation — did the consciousness (or the soul) indeed separate from the body or was it just my momentary state of the brain, I cannot know for sure, but the experience was very vivid and striking.
Such realities and a reality of synchronicity and of precognition dreams from which I learn about the nature of time on some other plane, I learn that it is not linear, and that it probably does not exist — wondering what space then is, wondering what it is all what we call reality, wondering what then is what we call ourselves.
With each new question, the expanded experience of the world, the collection of my own memorabilia/postcards from out of space and time, flows into something much larger and much less personal — aware, universal, infinite, one. The One with infinitely many expressions.
That Levels of existence are numerous I know — I touch some of them while gazing into myself. Is this dream my true nature?
Paralell One, 37,5 x 45 x 32 cm
Vibration, 17,5 x 19 x 18,8 cm
CROSS AND BED
two rooms
LOWER ROOM — Cross And Bed
There is a double wooden bed with neatly arranged bed sheet. Glass cross out spreads above the bed.
We are not religious.
There is a double wooden bed with neatly arranged bed sheet. Glass cross out spreads above the bed.
We are not religious.
Cross we borrowed and relocated into our nest.
Bed where we slept, we transferred within the body, testimonies and feelings above all.
Bed where we slept, we transferred within the body, testimonies and feelings above all.
We relocated also the cross into ourselves.
We’ve been assembling the layers long and patiently, piling the one on the other, the glass clusters, the cracks, the sediments. They keep all the beauty of the fossils.
Character of glass — fragility, sharpness, transparency, reflection.
Character of glass — fragility, sharpness, transparency, reflection.
We’ve rearranged everything the way we are the most comfortable with.
The union is in the very cross — the intersection of vertical and horizontal.
We are that intersection, you and me.
The cross was once an important guardian of a home, and still today in some traditional homes hangs over the matrimonial bed, while far ahead of Christianity, meant life in the its the only-two-moves.
This cross is just ours.
Earth and sky.
What about the crucifixion?
There is one bed and one cross out spreaded above the bed.
What about immortality?
Lots of water as transparent as glass, the light breaks through. Lots of red. Repeated through the glass layers. Inside color. Blood, life.
It's still a neat and well-arranged world. It seems to be. The most part of it. I think I can orient myself.
The stairs lead to the second level.
UPPER ROOM — Bed Area
ruffled
unorderable-unmasterable-inconceivable-unrealizable
unorderable-unmasterable-inconceivable-unrealizable
That is the that — dreamlike-level.
Beautiful alluvion.
Chain prevents entry, just in case, to keep the sensation at least a little longer.
Along and across the entire room the area of the bed spreads — the sheets are rippled, scattered. In them glass clusters, illuminated from the inside. The large surface leaves no room for walking, occupies all the space of the floor, from wall to wall, from end to end.
The upper room slipped away the human dimensions and outgrown them, the pillow is as large as ten cushions, the bed area is as large as the ten bed areas.
The order remained on the first level. Here is the rhythm of uncertain shapes, layers of glass accumulate asymmetrically; glass protrudes, enter and exit out from scattered bedding. Crumpled blankets, pillows that still retain the body imprints, sheets that remember, the glass that deposits.
In the corners of the room there are two unusual concave shapes, hanging on the hooks.
Illuminated with low light, at the edge of discern.
KISSES AND TEARS
and how they turn from one into other
Kisses All Around /detai
Kisses And Tears
They flow, 180 x 70 cm
REMAINS
Room’s corner: oranges cut on halfs, dried and nailed on the wall — some of them concavely, some convexly turned halfs. Tightly compressed to one another or inserted into each other. Some of the oranges half-cuts contain dense, greenish mildew, some became brown and darkened because they were not dried enough or dried in a proper way. Some of them got the lace structure because the moths were biting them. They were all used for squeezing juice.
Just few steps away from dried oranges, there is the worn kitchen table, the juice squeezer, the cutting board, the knife and pile of nails.
Somewhere nearby is somebody who's been drinking the juice.
Oranges were a part of daily breakfast. Dealing with these nutritional leftovers has given him the feeling of creating something out of nothing.
The skin of oranges reminds him of human skin, especially when it's dry — its pores. Oranges tissue and fibers — what's left inside after squeezing and drying — remind him of a tissue of humans and animals. Convex/concave halfs remind him of Plato; on the myth about the loss of man's integrity and of a search for its unique half of orange, the search all over the world to regain the integrity of himself.
Unremittingly he cut, squeezed, dried and hammered.
He managed to gather for about five hundred halfs, which were the remains of breakfasts, collected over a period of three years.
There are bigger and smaller halfs, there are those intensively orange in colour and there are those anemic-pale ones.
There were succulent oranges, while some were hardly squeezed, given hardly any juice. There were sweet ones and acidic ones, tasteful ones and the ones with no taste whatsoever.
Drying is regular; Every day the skin distorts, retracts itself, decreases. It hardens pretty fast, pores become more pronounced, deeper, more resistant. The tissue gets thinner, paler.
It is important not to give up.
With good conditions, drying progresses finely, a little bit of amount goes to a complete waste.
The most beautiful ones are those that have been drying well.
NEST
Realities are threads
released to fall
fall out every day,
bend them into the nest.
SWINGS
If we just stepped into a tall, spacious, dark room, this is the scene we are going to catch;
semi-empty space, some shapes could be perceived. Over the entire frontal facing wall, light and shadows alternate. Some shadows pass, shadows repeat — it seems.
Shadows of people can be recognized.
It is strange that we do not see anybody. Whose shadows are these? How do they appear?
The shadows are stand-alone, that is a bit weird.
Creaking sounds can be discerned.
Eyes are already adapted to darkness, it becomes apparent that the light comes from one slanted ray from above, extends all the way throughout the room, and spreads diffusionally across the front wall. Maybe it has to do with the shadows? Maybe that ray is transmitting the shadows projection?
In the central part of the room: two wooden swings of tightened ropes, on the first a male, on the second a female figure. These figures are positioned one opposite the other, both frozen in the sweep of the swing. They reminiscent of the inhabitants of Pompeii with their bodies so petrified in motion, even with their own form, its structure and washed tones, they resemble fossils. And that’s a bit creepy.
There are two more other swings, opposite to one another, these are empty. Do they invite us to swing? Are we free to use them? Is swinging allowed? The fifth swing hangs above the entrance, placed too high to be used for swinging.
We are approaching the frontal facing wall at the back of the room and we are watching — along and across, slightly catching the side walls, shadows of the swinging people are playing, of a man and of a woman. Shadows are overlapping, they are entering into each other and exiting, one out of another one, they are blending one into another. On their oncomings towards each other, they are diminishing in size, sharpening, darkening. By their distancing, they are increasing in size, dissolving, fading, rhythmically exchanging shapes and tones. When one shadow is closer, the other one is more distant and inversely.
The upward view — iron rings are wrapped by the rope and embedded into the ceiling beams with thick bolts — the empty swings seem to be firm and reliable, it must be they were given the swinging function.
A good feeling is to sit on the swing, catch the ropes by hands and let yourself go. And than more forcefully to swing and just give yourself in to the swinging, feeling the takeoff and landing within the whole of the body, again and again and again.
I guess nobody will come across and say that it is not allowed.
The squeaking sounds of the swaying swing are mixing together with that constant, barely discernible creaking of the background noise.
Shifting the body on the other side of the swing, and that's the position of a direct view on the wall with shadows.
On the lower left side of the wall, across the swaying and creaking swing, another shadow is now seen, it is joined to the other two shadows. With every sway towards the wall, this shadow is a bit smaller, with every sway away from the wall, it's a little bigger.
LAYOUT
The space is darkened, the only illumination source is the light beam of a video projector, pointed from the top storey to the lower frontal wall.
Recorded in the same space, but in some prior time, the shadows are at first glance confusing, they act as if they are real-time and space occurring.
Spotting the projection right away was avoided by the concealed projector and by the film display size.
Visitors are involved interactively, with their bodies they create new and expanded moving scenes — their shadows on the wall in real-time enter the past of swinging shadows (video recorded cadres).
SHADOWS
Bodies
In the air and on the ground, hovering, hanging, grounded, walking and seated, bigger and smaller, lighter and heavier, rounder and flater, thicker and thinner, wider and narrower, darker and lighter, more similar to human bodies and less similar to them, bodies in groups and couples, separate bodies, autonomous and collective bodies, bodies within and outside the frames — there are bodies all over the place here.
Trapeze
Like the perpetuated habitants of Pompey, two bodies are petrified in the high tension circus performance — right in the midst of its culmination, and what would've followed if the bodies weren't stopped in the swing of the flight, would be — the successfully catching each others arms, or falling of one of the bodies. As if was a rolling movie was put on pause, only Trapeze scene instead of in two dimensions, is frozen in three dimensions.
Materialization
The materialized shadow — it is possible to touch it and feel the roughness of its surface under the fingertips. Three-dimensional, anthropomorphic forms, elongated limbs whichsoever strangely refracted and flattened.
A materialized shadow — it is no longer just a projection, it is no longer just a photonic phenomenon in a game of light and darkness — it is now a full member of the solid objects community. It is now the one which can throw its own shadows, and they can multiply. A materialized shadow can be projected and multiplied each time in a new way, depending on a new space and light characteristics, while still retaining something of its own, primer character. Wherever a materialized shadow is displaced, it retains contours, angles, and slopes of the walls of that same space in which it was created. That space of origin — the home of the shadow, was the place of everyday living; of talking, of feeding, of washing, of sleeping, of dreaming. If the shadow moves somewhere else, somewhat of its home comes along with it to. If creates new shadows in new spaces, they will also project its origin features, combined with new shapes.
Frames The figures and their materialized shadows inhabit frames. One frame is without figures, conditionally speaking it is empty.
Some figures move within the frame, some move along their outer edges.
The images of the world are bordered by frames. Their shadows are projected onto the walls. The images of images are bordered by walls.
The blank frame may frame a void or perhaps frames a thought of the existence of a void or perhaps just frames the awareness of the unframeable.
The images of the world are bordered by frames. Their shadows are projected onto the walls. The images of images are bordered by walls.
The blank frame may frame a void or perhaps frames a thought of the existence of a void or perhaps just frames the awareness of the unframeable.
Of all framed pictures, this image should be hanged at the most prominent place.
IN BETWEEN
We don't need a lot of imagination or prophetic clairvoyance to predict a path of Tanja Bezjak and thus a parabola about the lost soul can simply wither at this place. So much there is that our young author has embraced in her work, so entire families could live from it. It is therefore difficult to determine with confidence the nature of her work or the style-morphological sign (ambient, installation, spatial drawing, object, sculpture, painting ...) because it carries many possibilities of both language as well as meaning.
An anatomy of this work actually reveals an interest of a process rather than finality. Goals, if allowed to say, are 'current' and uncertain. They escape a petrification of final goals and an endemic world: not a state but a movement, not a fossil residue but a living organism, not a closed door, but an open door through which the anthropomorphic shadows that form an ambiental (and existential) situations pass, literally and metaphorically.Sculptor of shadows has actually joined the families of those who create harmonic ensembles from an incompatible and dissonantly elements, above all they cultivate the philosophy of the relationships between different and unrelated elements; materials, processes and forms, forgetting objects and observing relationships. The virtue of this issue ensures nomadship and this gift is as rare as healing.This is where the reasons of these few words lie down.
Ive Šimat Banov, 1994, from the catalog
Frames
In Between, 68 x 95 x 93 cm
Door
FROM THE YARD
FROM THE ROOM
Window
Vibrations III
LS88, 66 x 23 x 36 cm
S8S8, 58 x 36 x 53,5 cm
OS88
Spiral
Prints
VV
JUST
sitting here thinking about you
It happened to you, didn't it?
FIRE BIRDS
sculptures as awards for
The Naj, naj, naj International Festival
STRINGS
in the park
Kukljica, Croatia (island Ugljan), 1997.
BARTOL KAŠIĆ
croatian writer and linguist
Client: Croatian Institute of Philology, Zagreb 1996.
Bartol Kašić (Latin: Bartholomaeus Cassius, Italian: Bartolomeo Cassio; August 15, 1575 – December 28, 1650) was a Jesuit clergyman and grammarian during the Counter-Reformation, who wrote the first Croatian grammar and translated the Bible and the Roman Rite into Croatian. SOURCE Wikipedia
~ last modified - February 2020.
© Tatjana Bezjak
No comments:
Post a Comment