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.