“A picture is worth a thousand words” used to be said, but it is probably no longer the case. In the flood of information and images, the power of both words and images is weakened. We cannot wait for a chronicle or a book to throw a torch into the public discourse and change public opinion. Texts are no longer read, fleeting impressions bounce off. Expressions and images slide past in an endless stream without us being able to take it in. On rare occasions, however, something can emerge from the flood of images and grab hold of us. Burned remains of everyday life I had such an experience at the exhibition “Power and powerlessness” at Nitja, where seven artists reflect on the use of power, surveillance and war. Not only on the battlefield, but also in the media as a battle for the truth. The rather simple installation was created by the Ukrainian, Oslo-based artist Lesia Vasylchenko (1990). On a table with a white damask cloth stands, among other things, a melted stemmed glass transformed into something that looked like crystal. A porcelain object, which may have once been a beautiful bowl, is crumpled and reminiscent of a chess conch shell. HUGELY IMPRESSIVE: Of the burned and melted remains of household utensils, only the glass is recognizable. We can only ponder what function the other things once had. Photo: Tor Simen Ulstein These are objects taken from bombed-out houses in Mariupol in Donetsk. I stand for a long time looking at these unrecognizable remains of something that was once a home, part of someone’s morning or afternoon. Rarely has war come so uncomfortably close as in the face of this work. Active empathy How can we get help to empathize with other people’s situations? People affected by war and driven to flight. Is it possible for us in our privileged reality to understand? The German artist Anna Konik addresses these questions in a video installation in which she has interviewed female refugees in various big cities. Since then, she has had a local woman in the same town perform the interview. For some of these women, the story became too strong, as when a mother had to convey the words of another mother who had lost her child. It impresses me how she draws not only the local women, but also me as an observer, into the refugee women’s lives – and forces us to actively participate. FORCED TO PARTICIPATE: In Anna Konik’s installation, she combines newly produced drawings of crises and natural disasters with older film interviews from women in various cities such as Stockholm, Istanbul and Bucharest. Photo: Tor Simen Ulstein War’s game pieces The first work that meets me when I enter the large, bright exhibition hall is the work of the Norwegian artist Audun Jansen Haga (1992). There is a podium full of small ceramic sculptures. Through a unique firing technique, he creates the impression that the objects are ancient and perhaps brought up from the earth. The sculptures can resemble the pieces on a game board, or perhaps toys on a shelf in a children’s room of the past. A mighty eagle is superimposed on the side as an inverted symbol of power. Between familiar objects we associate with war, such as planes, bombs and missiles, a small bird lies dead on its back with a large wound in its belly. BURNT PIECES: Artist Audun Jansen Haga’s sculptures are reminiscent of archaeological finds. Perhaps it can make us think about how the people of the future will view our reality. The sculptures also make us think about destroyed soil, which in the extreme can threaten the existence of a country at war. In the background the film work of Ukrainian Olia Fedorova. I am left pondering what the artist really wants to tell us. Are these pieces a picture of the war’s power play, or is the reference to toys about yesterday’s little boys who today are forced onto the battlefield? In any case, the work grabs me in its simplicity, with the apparently old weapons, and the dead bird as a symbol of the lost peace and everyday joy in the war zone. We find similar symbolism in the film work of the Ukrainian artist Olia Fedorova (1994). On the wall is a field full of sunflowers. The sunflower fields are a familiar sight in Ukraine and have become an image of peace, development, growth and prosperity. Fedorova also refers to these fields as places where you can hide, but where dangers can also lurk. In addition, the artist has created a work that is the beginning of a larger project in which she expresses her anger and sorrow over the war. In hiding from bombs and grenades, she has created a banner out of old bedding and random textile scraps on which she has written. “Fuck you I’m still alive”. Although the text is very direct in its message, it still makes an impression on me as an immediate testimony from the war zone. SIGNIFICANT BUILDINGS: Belarusian Celina Kanunnikava (1988) thematizes architecture’s rhetoric of power. Here, she has tackled buildings that are connected to surveillance, information gathering and propaganda. Photo: Tor Simen Ulstein Raw, realistic and captivating The exhibition “Power and powerlessness” is not a feel-good experience. It forces us to internalize the raw brutality of war. The perspectives and reflections we encounter carry a deep seriousness. It is by no means an easy task to create an exhibition like this, it can quickly become either vague or slogan-like. Here I feel that they manage to create an interesting, beautiful and painful exhibition that brings out the timeless in this current reality. news reviewer Photo: Tor Simen Ulstein Title: “Power and powerlessness” Place: Nitja center for contemporary art, Nitja center for contemporary art Artists: Bente Sommerfeldt-Colberg, Olia Fedorova, Audun Jansen Haga, Anna Konik, Lesia Vasylchenko, Celina Kanunnikava, Karrar Al -Azzawi Curated by: Rikke Komissar and Monica Holmen Date: March 4–16. April 2023
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“Power and powerlessness” at Nitja center for contemporary art – Reviews and recommendations
