“Damn it”, he sighed. “How will I ever get out of this labyrinth!” Wandering into Ksenija’s works – within drawings of space, or the movements through and around space – feels like stepping into a vivid dreamscape that suddenly comes to life. There is no pause to consider its potential meaning, before something abruptly pulls us in. Our encounters with the paper – and heaps of it, sprawling across the walls – turn the dream lucid. Suddenly awoken into epiphany, the viewer turns their gaze to different micro-formats, choosing which one to peer into, which memory to recognise as their own. Then, as if reflecting the drawn spaces, the viewer’s gaze turns inward, in introspection, flickering through the endless chambers of their own materiality and thus transience, suddenly realising: there…
