- 18:00 - Deschidere
- 20:00 - Inchidere
I can do this. I can do this. Said the aspiring curator to herself. The panic was a heavy-winged bird. And these wings… do they flap? No. The shadow they cast, though, O, that shadow… Thatˈs a good start (albeit not safe from cliché). A good reference, to be more precise. Pondered the aspiring art curator. This is so meta. Romantic (self)irony. Cheap tricks for Sunday writers. She was losing heart. How could I even begin to summarize Sasha Meret and his work, when so many others have done it far more professionally before? How could I describe the pure, unschooled joy when seeing his surreal worlds and their hybrid inhabitants reminiscent of pre-Colombian deities? And how could I possibly explain that I feel home at their mere sight? Sasha Meret is playful. He plays with words, putting them together in phrases that are so naive, they sound absurd, and so absurd, they sound necessary. Language needs this type of vitamins. He plays with seemingly random objects of everyday life that become indistinct in the economy of the completed work. Seemingly random, because he doesnˈt believe in coincidences. Only in synchronicity. Accident is just a guise for an obscure, yet revealing mission. Sasha Meret is an oracle. Sasha Meret is an archaeologist. His sculptures are alternative histories. They resemble our known universe, but not quite. History and myth, idol and fable, astrology and astrophysics blend as one in his work. Potayto, potahto. When I look at his exotic and sensual bestiary, I get the feeling that I once lived there. Or that I will, some day. The art curator realized that she wrote about the experience of Sasha Meret, more than about his art. Well, what can ya do? She thought to herself, humbly. Sasha Meret is a time and space traveler. She concluded with strong conviction. And on September 22nd, he will be stopping by at Celulaˈs to tell us a new tale about magical faraway worlds, either from the past, or from the future.