There's No Place Like Home
This spring, the gallery has had to postpone two exhibitions. Under the title, ‘THERE IS NO PLACE LIKE HOME’, we are using this moment to celebrate the artists represented at the gallery, showing new works comprised of painting, drawing, photography, and sculpture, presenting on-going projects and practices.
Tied together by a text written by author Eivind Hofstad Evjemo, the exhibition will be a dynamic show, where we will change and modify the installation throughout the exhibition period.
The first part of the exhibition presents works by A K Dolven, Ragna Bley, Lawrence Weiner, Ann Iren Buan, Aase Texmon Rygh, Jone Kvie, Ane Mette Hol, Callum Innes, and Vanessa Baird.
THERE IS NO PLACE LIKE HOME
Flights must be cancelled.
Chairs and tables brought inside.
New software is quickly produced.
The residue at the bottom of the kettle is like a tropical reef.
Flip the lid and look into a simple brain.
During and after the Great War women birthed more boys to feed the battlefield.
There was an explosion of virgin births.
There are no more journeys.
The bats fly on a holy mission over the clearing.
You can hear their screeches as they chase the coordinates in the twilight.
The foxes slink through the dry leaves around the chicken run.
A father stands and looks towards the nursery he just left.
He has tidied the house for the night and now he’ll clean out the rabbit hutch.
The tool he leans against the house remains tense.
The rich put up tents in the garden, carry the sofa cushions outside.
You read a report on a Chinese mining accident in the newspaper.
The dream is a rat in a bag.
The duvet slides off, pick it up.
You read your mother’s diaries, but they are just like all the other wistfulness.
If you put your ear to the kettle you can hear the sea.
And tonight you can bathe your children.
And a new software will be installed.
The heat rises from the bathwater, the energy floats around the room.
Those who wanted to be loved are doubtful and aggressive.
About the journeys postponed.
The time lost.
We had warm feelings invested in something that quickly fell away.
Technology is not a net, it has no hands, it can only distribute what already exists.
The silence is an underwater pool in an aquarium.
In the water you can see the pirouettes of something already extinct.
There is no herd waiting.
The journey is cancelled.
The rich carry their tents into the garden.
Bodies unnoticeably produce foreign neurotransmitters.
In the hopes of being seen by a bigger animal.
We glow in the dark.
- Text by Eivind Hofstad Evjemo, 2020