This event has been ended!
VERNISÁŽ | ITERRA | JAN OLT | SERHIJ ĎAKIV | ADAM SOUKUP
VARNISH | ITERRA | JAN OLT | SERHIJ ĎAKIV | ADAM SOUKUP
Event by: Page Five, Adam's Soukupičovič, Serhij Ďakiv
Location: Veverkova 458/5, Veverkova 5, Praha 7
Talks & discussions, Exhibitions
About event
We cordially invite you to the opening and exhibition at PAGE FIVE
📍 Veverkova 5, 170 00 Prague 7-Letná 📍
ITERRA
_ by @olt.jan & @ adamssoukupicovic & @serhijdakiv1
_ sound @nielsaras
_ technical supp & lights @vape.rock.cowboy
Vernisáž / Exhibition opening:
23. 1. 2025
Exhibition will run until
23. 1/2025 - 2/28/2025
We look forward to seeing each of you.
He has been following their tired eyes since he arrived. Puffy eyelids hidden behind a scarf to keep dust out of the nostrils while concealing purplish bags under the eyes, expressing an inability to apply for a break. As if they had been here forever, part of the cogs. Through the gap in the scarf and the flying dust particles, their gazes meet here and there, just for a moment.
He feels that they have noticed. They're on the lookout, as they always are, when she's around. He approaches one of the platforms. The edges of the board are so felt that they look as if someone has touched them a thousand times in a row, thousands of small movements that have reshaped the board - smoothed it out, as if the work has dug right into the structure itself. Focusing on the parts laid out on the board, he tilts his head to the side and raises his eyebrows in question.
“How do I turn this on?” he moves his fingers across the board to the other side of the tiny mechanism and looks puzzled.
< br/>The one on the opposite side of the table pulls the scarf from his face and puts the device to his ear. "First of all, it is necessary to verify the functionality. I turn the regulator and a fine adjustment of the parameters follows... The changes are verified acoustically."
He continues to explain something, but he hasn't been listening to him for a long time, it's not important. Instead, he examines the contents of the almost full backpack: he pulls out a knife with a broken point and two lighters, which he tests with a quick strike, but does not believe it himself. What he finds unnecessary, he throws on the ground. From the other side, two tired eyes watch him intently and with unspoken envy, while the hands do not let up in their work and the mouth continues to describe the device. They both stop what they're doing almost at the same time.
“Only then press the button, here on the side. Please.” They hand the device across the table, place it on their wrists, and leave again just as he came. One question, one answer, this purposeful interaction is over. He leaves without a greeting, the tension dissolving again into repetitive repetition. The fingers just practice running along the edge of the board, complete the last movement and then start again, from the beginning.
----------------- ---------------ENG------------------------------
Since the moment he arrived, he's been watching their tired eyes. Puffy eyelids hidden behind a scarf designed to keep dust from entering their nostrils, which also conceals the purplish bags under their eyes, expressing their inability to ask for a break. As if they've been here forever, part of the machinery. Through the gap in the scarf and the floating dust particles, their gazes occasionally meet, but only for a moment.
He feels their attention sharpen. They're on edge, as they always are when he loiters nearby. He approaches one of the platforms. The edges of the board are so worn down they look as though someone has touched them thousands of times, thousands of small movements that have reshaped the board – smoothed it, as if the work has etched itself into its very structure. Focused on the parts laid out on the board, he tilts his head to one side and raises an eyebrow in question.
“How do I turn this on?” he asks, sliding a small mechanism across the board with his fingers and looking confused.
The one on the opposite side of the table pulls the scarf away from their face and places the device to their ear. "First, you need to verify functionality. Turn the regulator, and then fine-tune the parameters... Changes are verified acoustically.”
They go on explaining, but he’s no longer listening—it doesn’t matter. Instead, he rummages through the nearly full backpack: pulling out a knife with a broken tip and two lighters, testing them with a quick flick, although he doesn't trust them himself. He tosses aside what he deems unnecessary. From the other side, two tired eyes secretly and enviously watch him the whole time, while the hands continue working and the mouth keeps describing the device. Both stop what they're doing almost simultaneously.
“Then press the button here on the side. Please.” They pass the device across the table, and he straps it to his wrist. Just as he came, he leaves again. One question, one answer—this functional interaction is over. He leaves without a word, and the tension dissolves back into repetitive motions. Fingers idly trace the edge of the board, complete the final movement, and then start again, from the beginning.
📍 Veverkova 5, 170 00 Prague 7-Letná 📍
ITERRA
_ by @olt.jan & @ adamssoukupicovic & @serhijdakiv1
_ sound @nielsaras
_ technical supp & lights @vape.rock.cowboy
Vernisáž / Exhibition opening:
23. 1. 2025
Exhibition will run until
23. 1/2025 - 2/28/2025
We look forward to seeing each of you.
He has been following their tired eyes since he arrived. Puffy eyelids hidden behind a scarf to keep dust out of the nostrils while concealing purplish bags under the eyes, expressing an inability to apply for a break. As if they had been here forever, part of the cogs. Through the gap in the scarf and the flying dust particles, their gazes meet here and there, just for a moment.
He feels that they have noticed. They're on the lookout, as they always are, when she's around. He approaches one of the platforms. The edges of the board are so felt that they look as if someone has touched them a thousand times in a row, thousands of small movements that have reshaped the board - smoothed it out, as if the work has dug right into the structure itself. Focusing on the parts laid out on the board, he tilts his head to the side and raises his eyebrows in question.
“How do I turn this on?” he moves his fingers across the board to the other side of the tiny mechanism and looks puzzled.
< br/>The one on the opposite side of the table pulls the scarf from his face and puts the device to his ear. "First of all, it is necessary to verify the functionality. I turn the regulator and a fine adjustment of the parameters follows... The changes are verified acoustically."
He continues to explain something, but he hasn't been listening to him for a long time, it's not important. Instead, he examines the contents of the almost full backpack: he pulls out a knife with a broken point and two lighters, which he tests with a quick strike, but does not believe it himself. What he finds unnecessary, he throws on the ground. From the other side, two tired eyes watch him intently and with unspoken envy, while the hands do not let up in their work and the mouth continues to describe the device. They both stop what they're doing almost at the same time.
“Only then press the button, here on the side. Please.” They hand the device across the table, place it on their wrists, and leave again just as he came. One question, one answer, this purposeful interaction is over. He leaves without a greeting, the tension dissolving again into repetitive repetition. The fingers just practice running along the edge of the board, complete the last movement and then start again, from the beginning.
----------------- ---------------ENG------------------------------
Since the moment he arrived, he's been watching their tired eyes. Puffy eyelids hidden behind a scarf designed to keep dust from entering their nostrils, which also conceals the purplish bags under their eyes, expressing their inability to ask for a break. As if they've been here forever, part of the machinery. Through the gap in the scarf and the floating dust particles, their gazes occasionally meet, but only for a moment.
He feels their attention sharpen. They're on edge, as they always are when he loiters nearby. He approaches one of the platforms. The edges of the board are so worn down they look as though someone has touched them thousands of times, thousands of small movements that have reshaped the board – smoothed it, as if the work has etched itself into its very structure. Focused on the parts laid out on the board, he tilts his head to one side and raises an eyebrow in question.
“How do I turn this on?” he asks, sliding a small mechanism across the board with his fingers and looking confused.
The one on the opposite side of the table pulls the scarf away from their face and places the device to their ear. "First, you need to verify functionality. Turn the regulator, and then fine-tune the parameters... Changes are verified acoustically.”
They go on explaining, but he’s no longer listening—it doesn’t matter. Instead, he rummages through the nearly full backpack: pulling out a knife with a broken tip and two lighters, testing them with a quick flick, although he doesn't trust them himself. He tosses aside what he deems unnecessary. From the other side, two tired eyes secretly and enviously watch him the whole time, while the hands continue working and the mouth keeps describing the device. Both stop what they're doing almost simultaneously.
“Then press the button here on the side. Please.” They pass the device across the table, and he straps it to his wrist. Just as he came, he leaves again. One question, one answer—this functional interaction is over. He leaves without a word, and the tension dissolves back into repetitive motions. Fingers idly trace the edge of the board, complete the final movement, and then start again, from the beginning.