"THEOREM ABOUT GRAVITY" 2025
"Theorem about Gravity" / María Casalins, Pablo Archetti, Martina Krapp.
An exhibition that explores the relationship between matter, space, human consciousness, and the environment.
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“The law of gravity is not responsible for people falling in love.” — Albert Einstein
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In classical physics, gravity is a force of attraction, a force that acts between two bodies with mass, pulling them toward each other. But what happens when we apply this concept to human experience? How is gravity related to our perception of the world and of ourselves?
Although Einstein did not believe that the positions of bodies could change one’s vocation, the exhibition “Theorems on Gravity” is a sensitive visual manual, a visible encounter charged with symbolism, surrealism, and figurative abstraction. In its different corporalities, visual weights, the pursuit of certain chromatic qualities, and the scales of painting, we present here today multiple conjectures with the aim of permeating an emotional experience that at times may refer to a primordial formal function, but which can also elevate an ethical concept and serve as a lesson for a possible and kind connection with the universe.
The exhibition brings together the works of three young contemporary painters and the variable relationship they establish between matter, space, and human consciousness about it. Through their diverse modes of painting, expansive formats ranging from classical painting to expanded proposals in different material forms, the artists invite the viewer to reflect on the nature of reality and our contact with it.
Daniel Fischer.
"SUBSTANCE" 2022
“Substance” / María Casalins and Natacha Jurberg
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This is about edges. About how one thing, from a certain perspective, appears as the edge of another. And about the nature of those substances that long to be without a fixed edge, without a boundary, but rather to grow—grow upward, inward, or all around. To grow.
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This is about what it means to be an edge, or to stand on the edge of. About how an irregular edge comes to be, a living shoreline, a breathing hinge within emptiness, a mound that remembers, though light. How much silence is required around nerve endings, around precipices, for them to be felt as nerves and as precipices. How many repetitions weave a carpet, establish a landmark.
Isn’t landscape, after all, the way emptiness finds to clothe itself? In María’s paintings, surfaces are tempered with arboreal gestures, because the strike of full light demands the strategies of a sieve. Thus, the brushstroke reproduces itself in the rhythm of a breath—short, agitated, and constant. It is a small creature in its mossy den, damp and cushioned, watching from shelter the hostility of the outside. Its heart beats both within and beyond, beats in safety and in hostility, systole and diastole—there is no other way to live. To cover is to protect, to grow within thickness. The mystery of a gentle, systematic concealment spreads across the canvas. Could María’s paintings be an attempt to soften antagonistic forces? Collision then becomes opportunity. Does she dream of forests seen from above? Surely, she knows the sound of foliage in ceaseless vibration. Might she also know how birds negotiate with the sky? Can negotiation itself become a poetic act?
Natacha’s ancestors are not native to these lands. None built an altar at the roadside, nor raised stone walls, nor hunted and ate guanacos on the pampas. How can landscapes and customs unaligned with her genealogy take root within her? Objects are inherited through the learning of their making. They need not have belonged to her great-grandparents’ household to become her own, to feel akin. Thus, Natacha learned from the apacheta—those mounds of stone the Andean peoples erected at crossroads or along the way. She observed the constructive possibilities of stacking, with layers of sifted, compacted, and dried earth. To gain height is to multiply and combine fragments so that their binding forms a compact whole, without dissolving their differences. But it is not so much about rising away from the ground as it is about insisting upon it—one ground upon another, upon another. In these small stratigraphic rehearsals, the temporal distances between layers are erased by simultaneous vision, and the form of the whole remains provisional; new strata will use the previous ones as their support and point of departure.
This is about edges—but not just any edge. It is about the edge that emerges from insistence and the attentive listening of the material. The open and porous edge, fissured and branching, that allows the environment to enter and, in doing so, to transform.
Verónica Gómez – June 2022