The exhibition features new works created with consideration for the specific character of the Gallery

space. Jaworski’s sculptures appear as scalable forms, continuously open to reinterpretation. Remaining in a

state of potentiality—or seeming incompletion—they emphasize the fundamental openness of matter and its

capacity for constant redefinition.

In the works presented at the exhibition, Lou focuses on revealing meanings that usually remain hidden

beneath the surface of things. Through subtle gestures, he brings them out of the shadows—unveiling their

material intensity. One sculpture, lying directly on the gallery floor, was cast in metal that previously existed

in a liquid state. It consists of three elements—two of which are fragments of machinery from container ships,

monumental organisms of industrial maritime transport. In this piece, the weight and rigidity of metal remain

in tension with its liquid, primordial state. This evokes metaphors of a deeper order—like all living beings, we

too emerged from liquid. From water, from which life once flowed. Lou’s sculpture serves as a reminder of that

primal connection—of the fact that the solidity of form always contains a trace of dissolvability.

Lou does not create representations, but constellations of matter. The fragments of the sculpture are

not repurposed; they were cast specifically for this work, using industrial negatives employed in the production

of container ship components. These are forms designed for labor—to be part of a machine that tirelessly

moves goods through the oceanic system of exchange. Lou interrupts this cycle. He halts these components

before they can enter the logistical order. Instead of boarding a ship, they enter the gallery. The artist changes

their destiny—offering them a different future. They will not work. Instead of function, they receive form. They

become sculpture.

It is a quiet, yet radical gesture—a disconnection of a fragment of the world from its economic purpose.

A momentary suspension of the logic of utility. A reminder that something—or someone—can exist beyond

the function assigned to it. The third element of this constellation is a falcon cast in metal—a form based on

a plastic figurine purchased at Castorama. This object, a product of the system, was meant to be an imitation

of a wild bird—a garden ornament, a simulation of nature. Perhaps it too arrived in a container, as a cheap

mass-produced item. Lou transforms it into a heavy, cold sculpture—granting it new weight, both literally and

symbolically.

The elements of the sculpture originate from different strata of the same economy—some were meant

to drive the circulation of goods, while the other was meant to be a good itself—and yet, in Lou’s work, they

are cast ashore, forced to coexist in a space where they no longer generate that kind of value.

The second piece is a peculiar kind of landscape—unidentified, yet strangely familiar. Its surface

resembles something fluid, as if it had emerged from another environment: not so much the earth, but

something in between—unstable, shifting, an alternative to the sea we know. It does not depict terrain; rather,

it tests the conditions under which space begins to make sense. Its structure resembles a map, but not one

used for navigating the known. It is a map for something that does not yet exist—for a possible space that is

only beginning to emerge. Lou’s work approaches landscape not as a backdrop for events, but as something

that comes into being only when we attempt to orient ourselves, determine position, find direction. It is a form

that shows that space is not something given—it is the result of action.

Lou removes forms from circulation before they begin to serve. He gives them a different tempo, a

different role, a different weight. Instead of functioning—they simply exist.