HANS ANDERSSON
JOHANNA GUSTAFSSON FÜRST
OSKAR HULT
LIVIA PRAWITZ
ASTRID SVANGREN

9 APRIL – 3 MAY 2026

CONVERSATION AND READING
WEDNESDAY 22 APRIL, 5–7 PM

Welcome to a conversation (in Swedish) with the exhibition’s artists and poet Iman Mohammed, who will also give a reading from her upcoming poetry collection.

SVENSKA

The floor of the shed is made of lemon halves pressed tightly together.

Was it a real room, or something I’d been told?
Doors and windows slowly melted into the walls. If you can even call them walls—that
strange boundary-thing that shimmered faintly with some light that must have forced its way
through from the other side. In any case, the window frame of the smaller left window disappeared first, up there along the corner. It was so quietly irresistible that I must have gotten stuck staring, not noticing it spreading to the other windows, and now the door was almost gone as well. A thin line glimmered where the door’s outline had made itself known an hour ago. Everything was silent, and only that blue-green fluorescence I had thought were walls. But now that the door and windows were gone, there was no reason to call them walls anymore. It stared into me. And that light I had thought had forced its way in from the other side of the walls—that light seemed to come from within the blue-green itself, and the blue-green was everywhere. I could no longer feel my hands, and when I tried to breathe, that didn’t work either.
I am now of this body’s cavity

Text Hans Andersson