We Were Here. The exhibition ‘It Used to Be a Castle’ by Marta Frėjutė and Sallamari Rantala at Editorial

… indeed, it may be that the entrance to the castle is somewhere else entirely, somewhere in between, beyond the flickering veil of hands. After all, at the centre of the Editorial space stands a piece of furniture designed by the exhibition’s architect Vytautas Gečas, resembling a door without handles. Together with Marta Frėjutė’s yellow glass, marked with dark handprints, it forms the artwork We Were Here. Perhaps the ‘we’ refers to those who have already passed through this portal into the castle, given the chance to experience its unexpected beauty. Our ancestors, in dark caves illuminated by firelight, once left imprints of their prehistoric bodies, traces that today smoulder with a distant glow amid strange fossils, relics and personal mementos. Like the other works in this two-artist exhibition, We Were Here speaks in its own way of archaeology and memory, retelling stories once heard long ago …

… meanwhile, Sallamari Rantala’s invisible artefacts lie dormant, preserved beneath a thick layer of sand. We see only their stencilled silhouettes, unable to grasp their true essence. Created from collected and purchased sand, the Finnish artist’s works resemble the scattered fragments of a dismantled work of origami: pieces that no longer fit together into a coherent whole, each existing in solitude. Although similar at first glance, their titles weave a narrative with distinct characters. My imagination is particularly stirred by the title Many Things Were Placed on That Shelf, which brings me back to the presence of furniture, but also leads me to think of this small gallery as an exhibition shelf, one that has displayed so many artists, like seashells cast upon a lonely shore, each deemed worthy of admiration. These two artists are no exception, and as I explore the texture of the sand from which these works are shaped, their intertwined melodies hum softly in my ears …

… now, Marta’s remark resurfaces, that the materials found in the exhibition also appear in food. It’s hard to forget that woman who once lived in Lithuania whose diet largely consisted of sand. And indeed, with their colour and texture, Sallamari’s works strikingly resemble confections: biscuits, gingerbread, halva. Such a turn in the castle’s corridors is not entirely unexpected, as Marta’s secret multicoloured stained glass memory artworks (called sekretai in Lithuanian folk art) also take on the appearance of half-melted lollipops. And then, of course, there is that story about Marta’s husband’s family … How a wife would give her husband sink cleaner to drink, claiming it boosted his immunity. That’s a true story. From it crystallised the artwork Based on a True Story, a thick glass cast of a familiar household object, a bottle of sink cleaner. Faintly etched on to its surface is the giveaway phrase: ‘sink cleaner and supplement’. It invites the thought, if our ancestors left behind awe-inspiring handprints on the walls of stone caves, we, in turn, are leaving our descendants rubbish with ambiguous labels …

… when thinking about storytelling, I feel compelled to return to Sallamari’s works, as one of them, Fuzzy Chronology, suspiciously resembles the long table at which the figures of Da Vinci’s Last Supper were seated. It captivates with its perfect perspective and silent purity. Perhaps it could be seen as a sand-covered replica of one of Patricija Jurkšaitytė’s paintings, where she depicts the interiors of great works, emptied of figures. I have no doubt that she copied Da Vinci as well. This series of sand-textured works indeed resembles blank canvases waiting for something, prepared to absorb like sponges. But what? Perhaps the visitors’ experiences, or maybe that single lonely russet brushstroke on the surface of Becoming Sandcastle. It stands out like a quiet betrayal, reminding us that within these seemingly assured monochromatic compositions lies a hidden spectrum of possibility …

… I cannot resist saying a few more words about Marta’s stained glass artworks (sekretai), which, scattered throughout the gallery space, glow as they nestle closer to the windows. It is intriguing that, without realising it, the viewer perceives light filtered through a double layer of glass, both the window and the stained glass artwork. It recalls childhood moments when a protective pane of glass would be placed over a flower or a sweet wrapper, transforming it into a tiny picture, a secret fragment of reality, left behind for a passing stranger or future generations to discover. Marta’s sekretai have more in common with Sallamari’s sand ‘cookies’ than might first appear. After all, the truth is that, when heated to high temperatures with other impurities, sand transforms into glass. And sekretai are traditionally buried in sand or soil, making them almost inseparable from each other …

… how I wish I could gaze upon this castle with the eyes of a child, with vision untainted by context, to see pure forms, to understand how, whether by accident or design, one thing transforms into another. In the background, the muffled murmur of a duet of shells echoes, the waters of oblivion wash against the shore, and from the depths, images of memories emerge. There was something familiar here …