Exodus II
Stretching across the space, Exodus II becomes a horizon, evoking the sea as a vast, ungraspable presence. No longer experienced from within but viewed from a distance, the installation invites a moment of stillness and reflection.
At its center is an abstracted sea — a place of passage, danger, and hope. The horizon, that thin line between sky and water, becomes a symbol of the no-longer-here and not-yet-there — a suspended, uncertain space. The fabric panels, falling from ceiling to floor, hold this liminal state: between above and below, between connection and separation.
Slivers of text — the personal memories of Laufer’s father — are affixed to the fabric, partly hidden, inviting viewers to lean in, to look more closely. These gestures break the surface, hinting at submerged narratives and emotional undercurrents.
The work oscillates between visibility and concealment, vastness and intimacy. What remains is the tension between the fragility of a child’s recollection and the monumental weight of history — and how both are shaped by the form, framing, and distance from which they are viewed.
Photos © Piotr Bialoglowicz
