Caught in a perpetual movement, just enough space for empty promises. Re ections claiming to mirror truth are in fact groomed of all traces of reality. Nothing is as sharp, as polished, as glistening. I reach out for this nothing.
A warning – an icy call: a ruler lashing tentative ngers, like paper-thin knives through a gaze. A tranquil violence or cosmetic emancipation, but never below the surface, never below the skin. This nothing controls me; but I control nothing.
Self-destruct is Ylva Carlgren’s first solo show at the gallery.