Her og der's "Suspended Homes"
Time: Friday 15 November from 12-2pm
More info: http://herogder.org/
Get to know a wide range of artists who have recently established themselves in Norway. The presentation features 10 international artists.
This autumn they participated in Her og der's Suspended Homes program in Fykse with a series of workshops with various artists.
Suspended Homes is about the possibilities and challenges of re-establishing yourself as an artist and creating belonging to new places. The program is run by Marie Skeie and Motaz al Habbash who live in Ytre Ålvik. Since 2018, they have organized various mentoring programmes, festivals and exhibitions with artists who are new to Norway. This autumn they invite artists living in various places in Norway to experience Hardanger.
Artists you can become more familiar with are:
Saba Pouyeshman
Bushra Khalid
Sonia Barreiro
Rajat Mondal
Sarah Lucas
Volodymyr Filippov
Salomé Fournet-Fayas
Symin Adive
Pablo Lecroisey
Pei-Han Lin
Suspended Homes is supported by KORO, the Directorate of Culture, Vestland County Council and the Visual Artists' Remuneration Fund
In this chaotic world of 2024, every event takes on a historical hue, leaving behind scraps of headlines, fragments of faces, and symbols. Here’s the V sign — it reminds us of victory, of dreams of peace, of resilience. But next to it, the American flag flickers, accompanied by an ironic phrase: “as a rule, not serious.” The world is tangled and ambiguous, and we often can’t tell where the truth lies and where there’s only noise and deceit.
Through this backdrop, alarming words break through: “murder count” and “open dialogue.” Their contrast sharpens our senses, as if the world is balancing on the edge, and each conversation is an attempt to understand, prevent, to hold on to something precious. Someone says, “We began with a good dose of knowledge,” as if knowledge is our only shield against ignorance and violence. But in this world, where ideals are blurred, the words “Printed in Utopia” sound almost sarcastic — as if we’re searching for something unattainable, something that may never come to be.
The UN sounds the alarm, urging us to stop and take notice, as if the world is crying out for our attention. But hasn’t this happened before? It seems that each time, it’s the same words, the same loud declarations, the same alarm, only to once again underscore the scale of the disaster without offering anything concrete. They shout, raising this signal to the heavens, but in a world where words have long lost their value, it all sounds like an old tune, one from which we no longer expect real action.
On the sidelines, a cute kitten with the question: “Childlike? Or perhaps not?” As if even the most innocent things at first glance hold their own subtext and hidden meanings, reminding us that nothing is as simple as it seems.
And finally, a caricature labeled “Overheard” — a random yet accurate stroke of reality, caught in the crowd. All of this forms a silent question, one that we look inward to answer: “Why do I read?” Perhaps it’s the desire to understand, to grasp some meaning, to find an island of truth in this sea of fragments and contrasts.
Every word, every symbol, is one more step towards awareness, an attempt to gather an ideal out of chaos, even if it always remains just a little further than it seems.