Pablo Vasquez Moraga

Pablo Vasquez Moraga primarily works with ink and watercolor. His initially mostly monochrome drawings, paintings, and installations tell of people, landscapes of memory, and childhood situations that merge with elements of an absurd present. With subtle humor and a playful visual language, he makes visible the contradictions and ruptures that shape our contemporary reality.

In his performances, the images are brought to life through an interplay of light and color. Whether working with analogue or digital processes, his interest is focused on the human factor: on errors, small glitches, and the presence of humanity, on moments of necessity and imperfection.

Motong Huang

As a flâneur, Motong Huang moves through everyday life, directing his gaze toward the spatiality created by structures, textures, visual signs, as well as everyday actions and experiences. From this, he develops an artistic practice situated between painting, drawing, and installation. His works often begin with inconspicuous discoveries—details that are easily overlooked in passing.

For the exhibition at the Kunstarkaden, he is developing a new project that responds to the spatial conditions and function of the venue. The work connects the interior and exterior spaces, opens onto the street, and directs the gaze into the distance.

Bingxu Ren

The sea wind swept across the wet deck. A young sailor, still heavy with sleep, shuffled toward the bow and gazed into the distance, where low, oppressive clouds seemed to merge with the horizon. It was almost impossible to tell where one ended and the other began—as if they had joined together to form a chaotic, deep gray-black void that was slowly drawing the passengers into itself.

The young sailor muttered to himself, “This weather is really terrible, isn’t it? Oh well, who knows how long it will be before we arrive.”

“Heng, heng … soon … very soon …”

An old man with deep wrinkles on his face cleared his throat before answering. No one knew how many years of sea wind had passed through his eyes; they seemed to shed a few tears, mixed with salt and sand. Yet he was not looking at the dark clouds merging with the sea. Instead, he regarded the young man with a trace of curiosity. The young sailor had only come aboard a few months earlier.

Then he said, “Stand still. Don’t move. Your back—your back! What do you feel? Hmm?”

The young sailor tilted his head in confusion and tried to look over his shoulder. Then he turned back toward the old sailor, awkwardly raised his arms, and felt around behind himself, as if struggling to find something. The old man seemed slightly puzzled.

“I asked what you feel. Didn’t you notice the warmth? The heat on the side facing away from the clouds?”

Only then did the young sailor notice that beneath the heavy, impenetrable clouds, a few pale yellow rays of light were emerging. The faint sunlight broke through the vast gray expanse, and suddenly the patch of light on his back felt remarkably hot. At that moment, the old sailor pulled him closer and patted him on the back.

“Come on, boy. Let’s go see how the captain is doing.”

And so the two of them slowly made their way toward the ship’s cabin, where the darkness grew even deeper.

Lina Augustin

Balcony Detour

The series of works on display stems from a desire to retrospectively organize experiences and thoughts. If the balcony can be understood as a brain, there is a need to stop the inner journey and create clarity and calm. The retrospective ordering of lived moments contains a self-reflective element, while tracing them again deepens the connection to one’s own narrative. Above all, moments are filtered out; what is important is separated from what is insignificant, creating a sense of agency over one’s own memory. Redrawing also creates a feeling of meaningful coherence within one’s personal story in a present-day experience of time that is often fragmented.

The series Order and Structure can be understood as a visual diary. External and internal impressions, states, and thoughts accumulate within and are processed and materialized through quick drawings. At the same time, “gaps in time” repeatedly emerge, and the works are not presented chronologically. A person is usually visible, caught in motion. Being on the move, moving forward, and taking action serve as remedies.

The series Winter Pictures presents redrawings of lived experiences. The autobiographical is expanded through fictional creatures and visions. Often, animals and beings of nature have slipped into human spaces, where they act as silent guides. The spaces appear unstable and yet alive. Although painted fragments are enclosed within secure frames, they can nevertheless evoke a sense of vertigo in the viewer. This contradicts the desire for overview and control and points to the impossibility of ever completely escaping the journey.

Both series can be understood as a rebellion against the journey through the “tube of moments.” The balcony, as a comfort zone, a private outdoor space, a small quadrilateral, can create a sense of confinement and become a mental cage. By putting experiences and thoughts “down on paper,” space is created for something new and for inner expansiveness. This newly created inner space also inspires the courage to embrace external expansiveness and new experiences. The supposedly safe area that allowed thoughts to become a thick, opaque mass may be left behind with long, purposeful strides.

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