WORKS: Ewa Dąbkowska, Anik Radzimińśka
CURATORIAL TEXT: Anik Radzimińska
GRAPHIC DESIGN: Ewa Dąbkowska
SOUND: Anik Radzimińska
The exhibition was part of Fringe Warsaw 2025.
Links:
https://nn6t.pl/2025/09/26/przemiany-i-metamorfozy-do-28-09-2025-warszawa/
List of works:
> sun=kissed [Dąbkowska, TEXTILE]
> My first summer bath, 120x120 cm, tempera on canvas, 2023 [Radzimińska, PAINTING]
> But I can’t keep crying All of the time [Dąbkowska, PAINTING]
> szukając bursztynów znalazłam perłę [Dąbkowska, PAINTING]
> ofiara z wulpińskiego [Dąbkowska, PAINTING]
> Daisies, 90x90 cm, tempera on canvas, 2025 [Radzimińska, PAINTING]
> Plant II, 140x120 cm, tempera on canvas, 2022 [Radzimińska, PAINTING]
> bez łodygi [Dąbkowska, TEXTILE]
> chciałam być bardzo młodą mamą [Dąbkowska, TEXTILE]
> nie było fiołków na mojej pinterestowej tablicy ślubnej [Dąbkowska, TEXTILE]
> przepraszam babcie, że nie znalazłam narzeczonego na studiach [Dąbkowska, TEXTILE]
> Martial arts, 80x80 cm, tempera and oil on canvas, 2022 [Radzimińska, PAINTING]
> słońce w rybach (księżyc w wodniku) [Dąbkowska, PAINTING]
> ascendant w raku (księżyc w wodniku) [Dąbkowska, PAINTING]
> nie parzy [Dąbkowska, PAINTING]
> A tool with two movable, opposite positioned, clamping jaws, 110x110 cm, tempera and oil on canvas, 2025 [Radzimińska, PAINTING]
> Teething I, 150x130 cm, tempera on canvas, 2025 [Radzimińska, PAINTING]
> Night eating syndrome, 120x110 cm, tempera and oil on canvas, 2024 [Radzimińska, PAINTING]
> lesby na budowy [Dąbkowska, TEXTILE]
DUO EXHIBITION (Part of Fringe Warsaw 2025)
Niekłańska 34
Warsaw, September 2025
Would the pleasure of making a daisy-chain be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies?
Curatorial text [short version, Anik Radzimińska]:
Would the pleasure of making a daisy-chain be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies? We daydream. We gaze at the fingers pulling up loops, the picture begins to blur. Our hands seem longer now, the boundaries of our body stretch beyond recognition. We shapeshift. We don’t fit through the door to the garden we were promised. Our place is underground, beneath the surface of the pool of tears we cried in mourning for the beautiful garden. Our place is made up and potential. We stare at our hands, at the growing claws. Three sharp and two blunt, so we don’t get hurt. Our place is improbable and real. Going down, we never once considered how we were to get out again.
[POSTER: Ewa Dąbkowska]
