The wasps have gathered in a corner of the wooden shack for the second time, restraining flight for a surreptitious assembly. Forming patterns that change every now and then, perhaps in intervals. An octagon disassembles and rearranges into a triangle, turning into a circle, its line wiggling as a twisted sine wave before eventually settling into a hexagon.

It was not staying put for the sake of staying put but, rather, due to an intricate petrification of the mind. Where to go when the outside already beats on your humble enclosure with a ferocity matching that of a grief-stricken mama bear? Those cubs were hard to mistake for your usual game, yet you made the shot nonetheless. All that occurs seemingly does so as punishment for one thing or another – be it a sin or a frivolous mistake. Despite this, you bear little sign of guilt or remorse. Regret seems exuberant. You would welcome it, yet it seems unlikely to come. Too costly for your mental economy. The wood reeks.

Perhaps you’ve spilt some varnish that managed to seep through the hardwood floor. It holds a grip on you. Luring you closer. Twisting your neck as you draw your ear to the gaps between the wooden planks, attempting to distinguish the vague sizzling sounds: the pops and crackles that emanate from the foundation underneath. It could very well be tinnitus. You never were a skilful shot. The uncertainty, however, does not unnerve you.
The exhibition leaves little room for imagination. In the space that it awards it, it holds it hostage instead. Immersion is used as a borrowed concept, stripped of its wonder-like spectacle until it is but a mere entryway into those that immerse. A lone wooden construction covered with fastened leather strips and scattered drawings encodes a vacuous experience that forgoes narration for scenes devoid of protagonists or unfolding events, shredding the boundaries between the hypothesised, the fictive and the real. You are an experimental protocol, a hypothesis, by no means binding for the environment that you enter. The spatial installation does not hold you in any regard. If challenged, it withdraws rather than face the consequences of your will. And yet, you are allowed to enter. Welcomed, even, by its carefully arranged inventory. As finicky as it may be, it seeks ample amusement. Subjects – that bear no hold on its development or form but nevertheless test its intricate layout – provide for it a foundation upon which its own sense of verity could eventually be formed.

— Domen Ograjenšek