In Brave are the tiny stones sleeping in wild rivers, two figures in fetal positions lie submerged beneath amniotic waves of blue, positioned on two stones, or kidneys, or lungs, as time and the elements work upon them. This desire of dissolution – a consummation devoutly to be wished – calls to mind a theme within feminist speculative fiction, such as in Anne Richter's The Sleep of Plants (1967), of women who, tired and wanting to opt out of their prescribed existences, transition into trees.

Kinga Bartis' work conjures such alternative, expansive, posthumanist ways of communing. In harmony with the cyclical nature of organic time, this exhibition begins at its end, with the three panels Spektrum of Love, Time for Space, and Rootless Strangers. A central looming tree cast in bright, rich crimson hues is flanked by two rhyming sylvan caryatids. Ambiguously positioned in space and teeming with hidden narratives and lifeforms, the triptych stands like a portal. Not a dead-end but a door.

In Lie where the soil is tender and you will become, a titanic charcoal forest of bodies with roots for feet stand shoulder to shoulder, collectively supporting the length of a slumbering supine figure, claiming and nourishing her as one of their own, like a forest’s mycelium network.