Smoke on the Water
FORM
26.11.25-31.12.25
There’s a precise moment when the sculpture loses its consistency.
We’ve seen it happen clearly, right in front of us—sometimes without warning.
When the light grazes a corner of the floor, or when a burst of vapor drifts through us. We can’t say whether it’s an artwork or an atmospheric phenomenon.
More likely the latter.
And perhaps that’s exactly the point: where does technique end and nature begin?
And, above all, what shape does a sculpture of thought take when it evaporates?
There are no captions, no sounds, no objects to touch or compare.
Only the light filtering through the large windows, and that cyclical, relentless movement of the cooling steam from the building next door.
We even shifted it intentionally, to empty it of value.
It twists and dissolves, only to be reborn—identical yet different.
As for the visitors, we hardly care; summoned for an opening? We would’ve preferred the vapor to be the one inviting them. The effect isn’t technological but organic, atmospheric, and the installation gesture is reduced to its essence.
There is no color, except the one given by the light passing through the suspended particles. During the visit, it almost feels as if the mist wants to tell you something. An elusive story, clearly, and devoid of content, because it changes shape every second.
And perhaps it’s precisely there, in its continual vanishing, that the work strikes most deeply: not for what it shows, but for what is missing.