THE LITTLE GREY WOLF | exhibition |

recycled plastic, dimensions vary

2023

No wondrous birds fly into our city, no wild beasts stray in. The rivers and seas have grown shallow, scarce of fish. And it’s not that we’re cut off by some boundary—there are just too many people here. And a beast—he’s no fool—needs open space. As a child, you’d lie awake at night, eyes wide from sleeplessness, and they’d try to scare you with tales of the little grey wolf. And you’d squint into the darkness and wonder: what are you like, little wolf? Is your fur soft to the touch?

Childhood fears, strange fears that tiptoe behind us, leading a round dance of shadows—what are they to us? And what are we to them? Whose turn is it to lead, to tell the stories now—ours or theirs?
"If you fall off the edge—you’ll cry it out," says the lullaby. So we lie down facing the wall, trembling under the covers. Waiting. But who are we without our fears? Maybe they are our friends? Maybe without them, we are not ourselves. Maybe falling off the edge is exactly what we need—restless in our sleep, half-dreaming not quite fairy tales, not quite sticky, heavy thoughts all tangled into one?

I think the time will come when we understand: those old fears are our talismans, our protective charms. And we’ll place them in front of us like a shield. The only one we’ve brought along—whether from forgotten places, or from the other side of the forest.


Artist, curator: Olya Makhno Co-curator: Dinara Uvarova