Exhibition of 21 Shortlisted Artists
for the Future Generation Art Prize 2024

October 4, 2024 – January 19, 2025

Tara Abdullah’s work focuses on the experiences of women in Iraqi Kurdistan, the region where she grew up, confronting the violence they endure while also highlighting their stories of emancipation.

The installation In-Between is an exploration of the role of women in resistance and reconstruction, especially in the aftermath of war. The work features metal boundary sheets from war-torn regions in Ukraine. These materials still bear the scars of war, but also symbolize resilience and the will to rebuild. Many women have already left their mark on these sheets — visible or not — but for this installation, they have also been invited to add new messages, or sketches emphasizing the collective labor needed for renewal.

The sound of Kurdish wailing, a traditional expression of grief and resilience, accompanies the physical elements. This wailing, performed by Kurdish women during times of war and following the loss of loved ones and lands, serves as a healing melody. Played through speakers embedded in the installation, the sound underscores the bravery of women who use their voices to heal. The wailing has however been suppressed in Kurdistan due to occupation by neighboring countries and the imposition of Islamic ideologies, which seek to erase both cultural identity and individual thought. Women, who are the main victims of this cultural suppression, have been silenced, and the tradition of wailing has not been passed down for two generations.

In-Between critiques societal norms that associate strength and endurance with men while relegating softness and domesticity to women. By using heavy, industrial materials traditionally linked to masculinity, Tara challenges these gendered perceptions. In-Between also offers a narrow yet powerful path, revealing glimpses of strength and reconstruction that emerge in the face of disaster, creating dialogue between the women of Ukraine and Kurdistan through their shared experiences of resilience.

Upon entering the nearly empty room, one is confronted with a sharp, heavy, metal object, composed of fragments of agricultural tools and machines such as cars or scooters. This unexpected threat is immediately engaging and positions the viewer as the target. Composed primarily of obsolete tools that are remnants of inherent human technology that progresses, Giulia Cenci's installation embodies the concept of rebirth in an artificially expanded body. The construction we see blends mechanical and organic elements, albeit cast in aluminum. Branches of healing plants sprout from metal bones and industrial machinery, with a human face modeled on the skeleton of this mechanical body. This emotionless mask serves as a future-proof prototype. It turns toward the audience, reminding us of the exhausted nature of human presence.

Moving towards the second part of the installation, the machine brings the viewer through a cage that opens into a corridor-like structure. Continuing with car parts, bones, and plants it forms a monstrous, timeless entity. This large object, devoid of any anatomical identity, evokes a creature that could be a dinosaur or something similarly ancient. The two parts that occupy opposite spaces are intimately connected: while the first part is an impenetrable object that confronts and distances the audience, the second immerses the viewers in an environment that surrounds them.

Displayed in Kyiv, the installation reflects on the context of the ongoing Russian war. The excessive violence of military actions is the primary cause of severe bodily harm inflicted on civilians and combatants, as well as the devastation of landscapes and various forms of life in Ukraine and beyond. The work examines healing and transformation through the use of artificial body parts, machines, and plants.

The artist invites viewers to envision an entity made of fragments of our world, whose power grows, devours its opponents, and battles endlessly with its surroundings and itself. While its hard elements confront the viewer with harsh reality, the installation also transcends its immediate context. It represents mental and physical landscapes shaped by interconnected species that determine their respective life cycles, both among the debris of the battlefield and in the humus of wild areas.

Buhlebezwe Siwani’s new work Uthuthu ethuthwini, uthuli eluthulini, which means Ashes to ashes, Dust to Dust in isiXhosa language, is connected with a deeply personal story of the artist. In 2020, her uncle and two other family members committed suicide one after another in a very short period of time. Due to the pandemic restrictions of that time, she was unable to travel and had to attend the funerals via Facebook live. After a while, she had a dream about her uncle, wandering and lost.

Thinking about loss, grief, and the passage between life and death, the artist explores the traditions and rituals deeply rooted in some Southern African cultures and churches. There is a belief that after committing suicide the soul finds itself in an ‘in-between’ state, where spirits remain unsettled until proper rites are carried. In the video, the viewers witness these rites together with burial traditions, performed to facilitate the soul’s transition. The video incorporates objects and symbols tied to both the dreamscapes of death and mortuary traditions – such as seeing a bride in a dream as a portent of death or shaving a head after the death of a family member. The purpose of the ritual of beating the body with prayer belts, which is only carried out in the case of suicide, is to release the deceased’s spirit of the deceased from the physical realm and facilitate its transition into the afterlife, helping prevent it from becoming restless or causing harm to the living. It underscores the community's commitment to honoring and protecting both the departed and the bereaved.

Buhlebezwe Siwani provides an opportunity for a journey to those who attempt to understand the nature of traditions and their spiritual meaning. Blurring the boundaries between past and present, life and death, mourning and hope, she reveals the ritual's enduring power to heal, accept the grief and allow it to reside within the body.

Castiel Vitorino Brasileiro is interested in studying the principle of transmutation, as well as such concepts as destiny and healing. Her research takes Afro-Brazilian spirituality and psychology as a starting point and considers art as an instrument for healing practices for those who are hurt by colonial violence and uneven distribution of resources.

Her ongoing project Attitudes of Time revolves around the concept of Time. It reflects on the specific but common interpretation of it as an inevitable flow, full of imminent changes and challenges. Drawing inspiration from Bantu cultures, where time is perceived as cyclical rather than linear, Vitorino Brasileiro suggests another perspective on it – as a balanced power, which can produce calmness and care through ecological memory.

The art center’s space transforms into the forest glade, inviting the viewer to step into its shaded thicket. By making one’s own path between tree trunks and the floor covered with fertile Ukrainian soil, one can spend time exploring the installation in depth or take a seat in the hammocks and slow down. As a result of Vitorino Brasileiro’s research on Ukrainian trees and their spiritual meaning, the willow tree was chosen for the work as a symbol of immortality, protection, and fertility. Sharing the belief of plants as the ancestors and witnesses of our histories, achievements, and declines, the artist considers them to be those who share our happiness, doubts, and aspirations. Each tree is assigned a specific color, which, according to Brazilian religions Umbanda and Candomblé, has a special meaning connected with the phases of the life of the Sun: blue – power of transmutations, yellow and white – peace, black – flexibility and courage, and red – love.

Acting as a sacred space, the work proposes a different perception of time as a cyclical movement of life, death, and rebirth, which provides opportunities for healing and shared knowledge.

Acknowledges:
Decorator: Anna Nykytiuk
Decorator: Uliana Pikhorovych
Director of photography: Mykhailo Chelnokov
Music: Volyn Field, Maksym Kavelin, Vira Sitsylitsyna


Artist and filmmaker Dana Kavelina works with animation and video, as well as paintings, graphics, and installations. Her work weaves together personal and collective memories, marginalized historical narratives, and contemporary urgencies, often touching upon the vulnerability of human and non-human beings.

Kavelina’s latest video installation offers a poetic reflection on justice in times of war. As Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine enters its third year, a new mobilization law, enacted earlier this spring, confronts some Ukrainian men with a difficult choice: comply and risk being sent to the frontline, or evade service and face penalties along with public condemnation.
Through her three-part stop-motion animation, displayed alongside folded screens with paintings, Kavelina attempts to understand cases of forced mobilization in Ukraine, raising critical questions about the rights of individual human and non-human actors alike. Environmental metaphors—such as "bad weather," or the “rain is coming”—have been used on social media channels to inform people about potential drafting in the area. These circumstances, much like the weather, are nearly impossible to influence.

Reflections on the environment in Kavelina’s work also emerge through the relationship between humans and their surroundings during war, depicting the environment both as a territory to protect or surrender, and as a refuge that offers shelter and support amid chaos. Camouflage is used as a metaphorical line of escape, forging a connection between the individual and their environment, and suggesting a return home.

The theme of mimicry is also central to Kavelina’s work, unfolding in several ways: as camouflage that reflects the natural world and echoes the behaviors of various creatures, and through puppet animation, which serves as a repetition of reality, depicting nature with artificial materials. Kavelina’s work addresses the complexity of war and loss—experiences often difficult to articulate for those who have not lived through them—while suggesting nature as an unexpected possibility for escape or rebirth.

Sinzo Aanza is a poet, writer, and visual artist whose work is profoundly shaped by the political landscape of his native Democratic Republic of Congo. His literary and visual art engages with themes such as the exploitation of natural resources, national identity, and the shifting image of the Congo, from the colonial era to the present.

In his latest installation, Aanza examines the complex role statistics play in representing real-life events. Drawing from the protracted conflict in Eastern Congo, he questions whether numbers alone can adequately express the magnitude of destruction and death. As the number of victims rises, one might expect an increase in compassion, yet the opposite often occurs.

To highlight the cynicism and moral indifference often associated with large scale political tragedies, Aanza references the well-known phrase attributed to Stalin, “If one man dies of hunger, it is a tragedy. If millions die, it’s just a statistic,” which was used during the great famine in Ukraine. Aanza critiques this mindset, simultaneously acknowledging that when statistics are reduced to mere numbers, they lose their narrative power and fail to convey the human stories behind them.

Through wooden sculptures and a textile piece, he confronts the abstraction and aridity of statistics for the imagination by giving form to the numbers, turning them into “analog statistics,” of sorts, where narrative complexity is restored through sensory experience. The textile piece, created by various artisans, is composed of Kuba cloth made from palm fibers and embroidered with raffia threads. It features astrological symbols mapping the sky on October 29, 1665—the date of the Battle of Mbwila, a pivotal event in Congo’s history, when Portuguese forces defeated the Kingdom of Kongo. The sculptures, meanwhile, depict the goddess Kalisya, a symbol of renewal in Congolese mythology. Though deeply rooted in the history of Congo, Aanza’s work also resonates with contemporary global conflicts, particularly the ongoing war in Ukraine.

Salim Bayri’s installation takes over a technical corner of the art center, repurposing it into an unusual sight in a public institution – a pantry. Stepping into the room, visitors are met with rows of shelves packed with cans, grains, bottled oils, and other durable provisions, giving the impression of a well-stocked storage space. The pantry’s limited size allows only a few people to explore its contents at a time, encouraging a more intimate and thoughtful engagement.

While examining the shelves, visitors uncover Bayri’s artworks, subtly integrated into the assortment of everyday products. Among them are: Land Head, a series of paintings reflecting the artist’s fear of losing his Moroccan identity as he becomes increasingly integrated into Dutch culture; old TV sets with video works looped; and Inventory Drawings, which catch the eye at the entrance and showcase carefully written lists, ranging from instant noodle flavors to Afro-American decolonial writers, juxtaposed in eclectic ways. Another artwork is a Smart Shop, the virtual cabinet of curiosities that integrates digital replicas of encounters with artifacts and memories Bayri tries to preserve by sculpting them. In its current installation, Smart Shop functions as a flat extension of the pantry. On the digital shelves, which are a continuation of the material ones, there are clay sculptures of various sizes featuring artworks and peculiar objects from the artist’s studio in Amsterdam.

The installation, dedicated to continuous storage, invites visitors to consider what is vital for us to maintain — both in terms of physical needs and deeper significance. Is this stockpile a survival kit for potential long-term blackouts, or is it simply a practical supply for a large family? As a Moroccan expatriate, Bayri continually grapples with what to keep and what to discard, whether dealing with tangible items, cultural traditions, virtual possessions, or personal recollections. Through this installation, the artist playfully yet profoundly invites us to consider our own choices on how to define our heritage and personal identity, emphasizing the delicate balance between cherishing the past and navigating future changes.

The pantry was arranged by a Ukrainian language and literature teacher and housewife, who was recently displaced from Myrnohrad to Kyiv. The selection of items combines urgency and practicality, reflecting Bayri’s ideas on what is vital for survival. The artwork serves as a metaphorical space where visitors can explore their own fears and desires.

Through photography, prints, text, sculpture, and often working with communities, Ashfika Rahman looks at the role of women in society. Her project Behula and a Thousand Tales emerged as a collaborative effort, shedding light on the plight of women amidst the flood-prone areas and riverbanks of Bangladesh.

Rahman traveled along the riverbanks and gathered the life stories of the women she encountered. It is important to note that the stories also emphasize the experiences of Indian women. And the riverlines shared by both countries include stories that transcend borders and address religious migration. During her journey, Rahman collected stories from both Bangladesh and India, focusing on the border areas where narratives of suppression overlap in many ways. Stories were captured in the form of heartfelt letters, written and later embroidered on green fabric, by women in various native languages, including different indigenous dialects.

Almost all the letters start with “Dear Behula…”, in reference to Behula – a central figure in one of Bengal's most renowned mythological love tales, Behula and Lakhindar, famous in both the Bangladeshi and Indian parts of Bengal, and penned between the 13th and 18th centuries. In this narrative, Behula's husband, Lakhindar, succumbs to the curse of Manasa, the Hindu goddess of snakes, on their wedding night. Tradition dictates that those bitten by a snake might be revived if their body floats downriver rather than undergoing cremation. Behula, determined to bring her husband back to life, embarks on a perilous journey with his body, beseeching the gods, including Manasa, for intervention. Her devotion and sacrifices in isolation are revered as the epitome of spousal loyalty in Bengali culture.

The stories shed light on the often overlooked and suppressed narratives of violence against women, but they also encompass the broader context of climate-related challenges. Rivers, often revered as lifelines, serve as the backdrop to this narrative. It is the story of the women living along these riverbanks, and how these rivers carry with them tales of struggle and resilience.

Open-ended, the project also serves as an alternative archive, making the suppressed stories of women accessible to a global audience and resonating worldwide. Hung on fragile threads in space, it is an archive that one would simultaneously like to open, and close.

The work of Andrius Arutiunian examines the relationship between rituals, history, deep time, and repetition. Speculative Armenian-Zoroastrian mythologies, vernacular knowledge, and contemporary politics resonate in this double set of works.
Walking through the space, viewers enter an entrancing and hallucinogenic 52-minute-long analog film. Shot in the ancient riverbed near the hydro town of Jermuk in Armenia, the film is a homage to Michael Snow’s 1967 legendary film Wavelength. In tune with Snow’s film, the camera’s perpetual zoom allows it to scan layers of rocks, minerals, and geological formations set to a slowly rising soundtrack. In End Pull, the camera is placed at the top of a valley stretching many kilometers, known for its mineral and healing waters. It is a place that is marked by recent political and ecological turmoil — extraction of gold in the nearby corporate mine which has poisoned the mountain rivers, as well as artillery shelling during the recent Azerbaijan-Armenian war.
These historical and political events are articulated by two off-screen voices heard throughout the film — the ancient Armenian demons Hārut and Mārut. In different religious accounts, these demons are associated with water, plants, infinity, and renewal. They are also known for inventing fiction, magic, and the distillation of intoxicating substances, such as alcohol and perfumes. In End Pull, Hārut and Mārut appear in a time where they do not belong, awoken by nearby artillery blasts and gold mine excavations. The intimate dialogue of the two demons and the rising mass of sound syncopates into a delirious and disjointed space-time. The story reconnects us with the entry point to the installation that features sculptural objects made of found objects. Here, the artist explores how natural elements act as filters, responding to different frequencies and resonating with the film’s themes. Together, all parts of the installation create a sonic and poetic echo system, much like the mythic duo of Hārut and Mārut.
The work reflects how history, politics, and poetics influence the way we perceive the concept of “surface” — of both the earth and the film itself. It hints at presences hidden beneath the ground and gently lulls the viewer into a trance-like state. The scars of this exploitation of the underground deposits remain visible — some slowly overgrown by nature, others marked by fresh wounds to the landscape.

Drawing from post-humanist thought and speculative visions of the future, Sandra Mujinga explores the concept of body, its visibility and self-representation. Her new work, inspired by Christina Sharpe’s book Ordinary Notes, delves deeply into the themes of grief and bearing witness. The collection of sculptures composed of hand-sewn fabrics is presented at various heights, a decision influenced by Mujinga’s experiences working with vocalists. The varying heights symbolize a kind of musical composition, where the human-like figures seem to either ascend towards the heavens or teeter on the brink of collapse. In these works, the sculptures embody the non-linear nature of grief, where time bends and folds, and the world feels as though it is ending repeatedly. Grief becomes a complex and recurring phenomenon, as one mourns not only what has been lost but also what might have been.

Mujinga explores the idea that trauma can serve as a powerful tool for time travel, a concept
visually represented through use of fabric. The process of folding, gathering, and releasing fabric becomes a metaphor for the ways in which individuals cope with and
process trauma. The mantra of Unfold and Repair echoes throughout the work, serving as a
reminder to breathe and to allow the self to heal over time.

The work is presented in a space that blurs the boundaries between the sculptures and their environment. The room itself is painted in the same hue as the fabric used in the sculptures, creating an immersive and cohesive atmosphere where the figures seem to extend beyond their physical forms, merging with their surroundings. This deliberate choice in the design of the installation reflects Mujinga’s intention to create a world within a world – one where these bodies are not merely objects of observation but active participants in their own universe.

Veronika Hapchenko's vibrant airbrush paintings reflect her profound interest in the histories of infrastructure, architecture, and art of the former USSR, often strengthened through visual references to Soviet-era mosaics found in Ukraine. In themselves an equivocal symbol, they blend Soviet propaganda imagery with Ukrainian avant-garde. These monuments, once the symbols of a hopeful future, are now being destroyed by the Russian invasion and attacks on cultural heritage sites.

Hapchenko’s works Engineer I and Engineer II are part of a series inspired by her research into the legacy of Soviet megaprojects from the 1930s. One such project was the ambitious Northern River Reversal, which aimed to divert the flow of northern rivers that 'uselessly' drained into the Arctic Ocean, redirecting them southward to the populated yet dry regions of Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, and Turkmenistan. The painting Human Composition, on the other hand, refers to the forced migrations imposed by the Soviet regime between 1930 and 1952. Just as the foundations of entire nations were deliberately broken and reshaped, this painting depicts a human spine that is distorted, twisted, and displaced.

Referring to the Soviet phenomenon of forced collectivity, the smaller-scale painting Sound explores the idea that bringing together a large mass of people generates a vibration. This depersonalized crowd produces a distinct sound, emerging only through the rhythmic repetition of collective bodies.

The massive human and environmental engineering projects pursued by Soviet authorities to assert dominance over both nature and people continue to impact the region today. Through her airbrush technique, which conceals brushstrokes and blurs edges while expanding color into space, the artist subtly suggests the nearly invisible ties we must confront without washing them away in order to process collective trauma.

Drawing from diverse knowledge systems, mythologies, and craftmaking traditions, Marie-Claire Messouma Manlanbien creates powerfully evocative installations. She explores themes of femininity and healing, often incorporating ancient symbols and medicinal plants, while shedding light on historically marginalized or forbidden practices.

In her new tapestry and immersive installation, the artist weaves together various scenes that bear witness to the rescue of the wounded, bodies pulled from rubble, soldiers heading into battle, and populations fleeing wars and famines. These moments reflect the shared search for a better future across different parts of the world—from Africa to Asia, passing through America and Europe. Woven with a blood-red thread, different wars and conflicts—Israel-Palestine, Russia-Ukraine, Libya, armed struggles in Burkina Faso, Somalia, Sudan, Yemen, Myanmar, Nigeria, Syria, Azerbaijan-Armenia, the two Koreas, and more—are intertwined, and overlapping. The artist conveys that we are all touched by the pain and turmoil that forces people to flee by road, air, or sea, with many perishing in the waters. Those seeking a better future are often turned away upon arrival in Europe or America, while those with the right documents and passports are welcomed everywhere.

Scattered throughout the tapestry are remedies and medicines crafted by the artist in order to heal, to soothe. These are surrounded by trays displaying tools and treatments inspired by indigenous healing methods from various African regions, alongside modern techniques reimagined by the artist. The trays hold syringes filled with plant powders and seeds, needles and thread ready for use, compresses soaked in clove solutions, bowls of water—the essence of life—and mounds of soil.

The thick red rope running through the installation and connecting different objects symbolizes an umbilical cord that connects us all, highlighting our shared present. The scene rests on survival blankets, emphasizing themes of life, fragility, and interconnection.

In his works, ZHANG XU Zhan honors his family’s tradition of trading paper figures commonly used for ritual ceremonies and funerals in Taiwan. For his experimental films and stop-motion animations, he creates dreamlike and mysterious landscapes inhabited by nature spirits, mythological creatures, animals, and plants. These fictional worlds serve as a setting for bizarre and surreal stories unveiling the artist's personal experiences, as well as shared memories and stories.

Exploring the dialogue and connections between Taiwanese and global international culture, ZHANG is interested in the constant flow and mutual exchange of knowledge. For example, how oral stories develop their localized version in different regions, or how music can change its meaning in circulation. In his latest artistic practice, he focuses on folk tales as an embodiment of local mythologies and beliefs, discovering the similarities that can be found in texts all over the world. He brings together these different variations, creating his unique version of the story.

The work Compound Eyes of Tropical is based on the well-known Southeast Asian folk tale The Mouse-deer Crosses the River, where the original plot is combined with motifs collected from different regions. It tells the story of a Mouse deer, a small animal that is a common folktale character in Malay culture, who outsmarts a crocodile. The viewers are witnessing a riverbank scene, where the main protagonist, as well as other characters of the story, rapidly change their appearance, turning into animals from other tales with a similar theme. The symbol of a mirror, which emerges throughout the video, reflects different identities and reveals interconnected narratives.

The walls and ceiling of the space are covered with newspapers – a symbol of the skin of gods and mythical beasts. Collected specially for the exhibition from various sources, they not only transform the room into a simulacrum of one of ZHANG XU Zhan’s worlds, but also continue the dialogue across different texts and stories.

In his multidisciplinary artistic practice, Julian Abraham ‘Togar’ combines sound, music, installation, DIY engineering, programming, and science. Based on extensive research, his projects often include community participation and social engagement in such formats as workshops and educational programs.

For the Future Generation Art Prize, he presents his ongoing work the OK Studio, which started during the Covid-19 pandemic. It was conceived as a research project dedicated to creating a shared space to exercise, experiment, investigate, and practice various ways and forms of listening as an active position. Musicians and artists interested in experimental work with sound were invited to join the studio, so it quickly evolved into a place for collective jamming sessions and rehearsals, music recordings, cinema screenings, dance parties, etc. Since its initiation, the project has been realized and shown in different contexts and environments – from art institutions and museums to more informal places such as gardens and theaters.

The Kyiv iteration of the OK Studio consists of two parts. The first, presented at the PinchukArtCentre, displays the project's archive through documentation materials and attributes from past years – posters, photos, musical instruments, a custom-made carpet, etc. The installation’s central video work One Jam per Week Will Do You Youth (2024) was recorded in Nottingham Contemporary during the jamming session of the Robin Hood Youth Orchestra with Julian Abraham. It was a response to Nayamullah’s compositions, a jamming collective whose members span the Indonesian archipelago, Togar’s native country. Diving into the project's history, the audience is invited to explore the possible scenarios embedded in its nature.

Emphasizing the community-building potential of the OK Studio, its second part will be presented in close collaboration with the Kyiv-based 20ft Radio. A series of jamming session events with an open call for professional musicians and amateurs will be held during October and November, with the results of this cooperation supplementing the archive in the space of the PinchukArtCentre afterward.

Yasmine El Meleegy’s strong bond with Egypt’s cultural legacy emerged unexpectedly amid a simple routine moment — she was drinking tea from a cup signed by Fathy Mahmoud. This name would soon resonate deeply in Meleegy’s life and work. Mahmoud was a significant figure in Egyptian art who, besides being known for his monumental public sculptures and murals in Cairo and Alexandria, established a porcelain factory in 1942. The enterprise focused on domesticating art by bringing it into everyday life and making it more accessible to everyone. What began as a casual interest turned into thorough research, inspiring a series of letters that Meleegy wrote as if in a tete-a-tete conversation with Fathy Mahmoud.

Once vital for conveying ideological messages in public spaces, murals, reliefs, and mosaics from that era now serve as relics of a socialist art style from past decades. These artworks often seem out of place in rapidly modernizing cities. Even as the context around them continues to change, Yasmine El Meleegy feels a strong urge to care for and preserve these monumental pieces. The notion of preservation lies at the heart of her latest work. She reappropriates historic imagery from Fathy Mahmoud’s relief at Cairo University that commemorates the student uprising of 1935–1936, part of the mass protests against colonial rule.

In a symbolic act of repetition that recalls the industrial origins of the tableware, Meleegy breaks porcelain cups resembling the one that first introduced her to Mahmoud — and then reconstructs them into new artworks. This process of breaking and rebuilding is central to her approach, reflecting the tension between destruction and creation that she sees in the world around her. Her mosaics, crafted from these fragments, are a way of reimagining the past and giving it a place in the present.

Meleegy’s work manifests the enduring power of art to shape our understanding of history and identity. The artist invites viewers to explore her insights shared with Fathy Mahmoud by taking a copy from the large stack of letters arranged on the industrial trolleys at the entrance to the space. Written in a deeply personal and intimate style, these lines form the backbone of her current exhibition.

Working with decolonial politics, history, and knowledge production, Nolan Oswald Dennis are interested in how pedagogical tools transform the gallery space into a place of learning – a study room or a library. Their new work Preoccupations unfolds across three adjoining spaces. Upon entering, the audience witnesses a three-channel film which plays in silence. Leaking in from another room along with the noises of the exhibition, the soundtrack of the film acts as a self-sufficient ambient sound piece. The film explores a 20th-century history of revolutionary education as a whole-earth project where political aspirations are entangled with natural and cosmic ambitions. The film combines original and archival materials with virtual images, diagrammatic maps, and earth-system simulations to produce a meditative and speculative reflection on the whole-world as a radical aspiration – a planet with many worlds within it.

The two adjoining spaces act as study rooms. Reflecting the history of topic-specific library reading rooms, which over centuries were created and modified to better suit knowledge of the world, they are arranged with library furniture designed to hold only one object, twice. In one room, a wall-mounted bookshelf, inspired by Placcius' 17th century Arca Studiorum, holds an English and Ukrainian translation of The Pedagogy of the Oppressed (1970) by Brazilian educator Paulo Freire. This doubling is also repeated in the soft globe placed on the bookshelf and two articulated study desks, each holding a globe.

In the other room, Melville Dewey's 19th-century Danner series of revolving bookcases is reimagined now as a relation-making shelf connecting two parallel atlases – English and Ukrainian Atlases and a black void. While libraries are imagined as an archive for general universal knowledge, artists imagine them as a space for specific pluri-versal relation making – a place to care for knowledge from the void between worlds. A wall drawing reimagines a wall map as a game-like space where many different kinds of worlds can be imagined. Presented as a series of options, the diagrammatic lines connecting this grid of worlds emphasize the relations between different kinds of worlds over the possibilities of any individual notion.

The history undercommons of the fugitive, prohibited, and illicit spaces of (black, indigenous, queer, working-class) study, where single books are shared and reshared amongst many people and where, against the convention of libraries as silent spaces, knowledge is shared by talking, singing, dancing and other opaque practices of freedom. The work reflects on historical and spatial disjunctions, ruptures, doublings, projections, simulations, and dreams in which an imaginary condition called a more-free-earth might be possible.

While focusing on the delicate interplay between life and decay, Hira Nabi’s ongoing project How to Love a Tree explores vanishing ecosystems and the rich biodiversity of Pakistan. By combining different mediums, such as multichannel video, found ceramics, and textile pieces, the artist looks into deep-rooted connections between an individual and nature. Nabi undertakes several expeditions to the blue pine forests surrounding the town of Murree, and the Galiyat region, where the former British hill stations, a relic of the colonial era, play an integral role in the landscape. These once-thriving territories are now crumbling under centuries of continuous exploitation, leaving behind shreds of evidence of a painful past intertwined with capitalist expansion.

Revealing the traces left by colonial rule and the ongoing degradation of these ecosystems, the work also accentuates the harsh realities faced by locals. Colonial and post-colonial governments took control of the lands with violence and strict laws, creating a cycle of destruction. During harsh winters and desperate times, villagers have been forced to cut ancient trees just to survive. Nabi’s rubbings from these damaged trees serve as a silent witness to the suffering of both the land and the people, showing their shared struggle and resilience. In her textile cyanotypes and silkscreens, the artist ponders over time, memory, disappearance and extinction, and an uncertain future.

Ukrainian land also has a history of colonial transformations. Under Stalin's regime and in the decades that followed, the different environments were reshaped to increase the productivity of the land. The policy included planting forest belts around fields, building canals and irrigation systems that disrupted steppe biomes, and constructing numerous massive hydroelectric plants and reservoirs on the Dnipro River. During Russia's war against Ukraine, many of these straight lines of forests have been transformed into trenches and fortifications amid ongoing combat in the eastern and southern regions. And in 2023, one of the Soviet-era dams holding back a huge water reservoir was destroyed by Russian military forces, setting a precedent for ecocide.

In his artistic practice, Ziyang Wu is interested in contemporary technology, data-driven environments and virtual worlds, as well as their role in recreating and reconsidering human relations. For the Future Generation Art Prize, he presents his new work Agartha – video-game, which integrates media archaeology, historical documents, field research, and science fiction. According to ancient Indian texts, Agartha is a cave, which lies beneath the Atlantic Ocean, linking the continents of Europe, Asia, America, and Africa, with secret exits in Mexico, Turkey, China, India, and Spain. It appears as a mysterious subterranean world, harboring infinite unknowns.

The work aims to reveal that the existence of the world is gradually formed through diverse, accidental, mutated, or erroneous connections. Amplifying this thought, the video-essay brings together different stories like the Tree Alliance in the Petén-Veracruz moist forest in Guatemala with its nutritional sharing systems between trees, and the evidence of social behavior of Peruvian rattle snakes. By drawing parallels between the interconnections among plants, insects, and animals, an imagined ecological political system also unfolds – referring to a cross-species communication experiment in the Virgin Islands in the 1960s and the Internet Pigeon Network in the Gaza region. The video becomes a plot-driven part of the puzzle computer game, which uses the classic connecting the dots mechanism, where players link different objects with beams of light to construct complex connections to complete the tasks in each level.

Inspired by classic ancient circular chart paintings, such as Anima Mundi (The Soul of the World) by Robert Fludd, the two circular light boxes serve as a conceptual genealogy chart and character list for the artwork, illustrating the significant concepts within Agartha.

Combining the theories of Matthew Fuller, Bruno Latour, Graham Harman and Timothy Morton, the work underscores the intricate and often fragile web of connections that shape our world, inviting viewers to consider the broader implications of their interactions within these interconnected systems – natural, political, or digital. By doing so, Agartha not only brings to light the complexity of these networks, but also reveals the potential dangers, both material and spiritual, that lie within our evolving ecosystems.

Dina Mimi is a Palestinian visual artist and filmmaker who is based between Palestine and the Netherlands. Mimi works with experimental filmmaking and lecture performances that research the question of how and when bodies become sites of resistance. This question finds its material interest in moving images, especially found footage, that is discarded and therefore deemed worthless. Seeing editing as a playground, Mimi plays with opacity in moving images by seeking to brush up against footage which tries to be ungraspable or is in the act of vanishing. This is an ongoing attempt at non-linear narration as a means of disfiguring one’s imagination of bodies as sites of resistance.

In Thousand Thrashing Arms, Mimi experiments with the relationship between liberation, dreams and movement by weaving together found footage and her own filmed footage. Drawing on the words of Frantz Fanon—“The first thing which the native learns is to stay in his place and not to go beyond certain limits... I dream I am jumping, swimming, running, climbing”—the film invokes a fractured dream, by layering pixelated imagery onto high-resolution footage, in order to stretch the viewer’s imagination of liberatory insurgencies.

The film juxtaposes scenes of human and non-human figures in movement, from statues and animals to bodies wrapped in cloth, depicted in states of captivity, traversing tunnels, or resisting from underground. The edges of the body and its capacity for resisting are traversed, the body that can become concrete and steel can house foreign chants of the underground. Mimi suggests that the film itself is labouring and conspiring to represent a (dissociative) dream, patching together poetic gestures of running in reverse, skipping feet, and wrapping arms, all for the inevitable sake of freedom.

Bekhbaatar Enkhtur’s artistic practice explores the migration of objects, rituals, and visual culture, focusing on how their meanings evolve, particularly in relation to his native Mongolia and the broader regions of Central and East Asia. His sculptures often take the form of animals, examining the complex relationships between humans and non-humans.

In this new body of work, Enkhtur draws inspiration from the dervishes — Sufi Muslim mystics from Central Asia, renowned for their rituals and captivating storytelling. These dervishes did not just recount stories; they lived them, with each narrative constantly evolving. Their oral traditions were fluid, always open to new meanings and interpretations.

Inspired by the concept of “stories in motion,” Enkhtur has created copper sculptures arranged dynamically on the wall, each symbolizing both a connection to and divergence from myths and folklore of the nomadic tradition. In his objects, we find interpretations of such symbols as a magpie, tales about vultures and snakes, a wolf and a hare or Fifteen Faced Mahakala, as well as such stories as the Horse with the Sun on Its Back, or a Woman with Deer, Copper holds a twofold significance in this work. In Buddhist tradition, it is often used for statues and small idols in sacred family spaces, symbolizing the thin yet profound boundary between the physical and spiritual realms. It also represents the fragility and resilience of belief systems, bridging the material and the transcendent.

Enkhtur weaves together diverse, sometimes contradictory stories to create a visual mosaic of myths, legends, and spiritual teachings, often reflecting the search for balance between good and bad. This fusion of traditions symbolizes a world he envisions — guided by parallels rather than divisions — where absolutes do not exist.

Taking inspiration from Indonesian history, as well as her personal memories and experience, Ipeh Nur creates works that touch upon the topics of mythologies and legends and how they affect the life of the local communities.

A construction of an unusual form is standing in the space – barely lit, it entices the audience to come near and explore the drawings covering its surface. Up close, they remind a surreal vision in between dream and delusion, where different images intertwine and flow into one another, leaving the viewer in a state between the curiosity of further contemplation and disturbance. The quiet voice of the narrator hints at the possibility of going inside, where, apart from the film, new images might be found in darkness.

Interested in the nature of myths and their passage from generation to generation, Ipeh Nur attempts to reconsider long-standing beliefs and how they metaphorize today’s events. In her work The Waves Haven't Slept she refers to the legend about the Nyai Roro Kidul, which means the Queen of the South Sea in Indonesian. Known as a sacred queen and spirit in Javanese mythology, she was deeply connected to the cultural and spiritual life of Yogyakarta and the Mataram Kingdom. Due to the Javanese Chronicle, she was associated with protection and power, as well as spirituality and mystery. It was also claimed that she had connections to natural disasters, such as tsunamis. Bringing together history, geomythology, and the natural world, the legends reflect Nyai Roro Kidul as guardian deity, representing hope and control over the forces of nature.

Diving into her childhood memories of her grandfather and the South Sea, Ipeh Nur takes an intuitive journey that immerses into memories, myths, and history. She creates an imaginary space – like a cave or a fortress – which reminds of protection, faith, and hope.