listening to old drum’n’bass cassettes, worn out tape hissing and reels clattering, it seems a note has drowned in a bustling river that would flow into this scene, run over trenches buried in the ground and enter a film on the TV, I sensed at the time it is better not to see what happens next, and in the frozen forest with legs crossed I sunk comfortably into the couch as a pigtail spring bust through its casing amidst the red walls, where a sharp murmur bounced from corner to corner, drumming jaws stopped and tensed around the chewing gum, whereas legs kept relentlessly tapping the rhythm into the ground. When Mickey’s voice came, it trembled just as the mouse did, with Walt huffing and growling over the blasts and crashes bright with light, and it appeared as if with just a little effort we would be able to see aligned in a small chain, nourishing but frigid; important was also the attempt to merge words with movement the bends and turns of the track are growing, the distances, gear shifts, the possible overtakes I remember a whole day thinking I had become deaf, Riga was completely barricaded then hissing, she throws her hind legs high in the air, white belly flashes just as white nipples flicker like pearls we can hear velvet float by, or something equally moss-grown – we find ourselves in a pot full of stars it would make a fine broth, I think, fit for the ill and healthy alike.
Ieva Putniņa, born somewhere between the 80s and 90s, is an artist, actress and a teacher. Her work is characterized by scintillating interactions and questioning of what is high and low art, while looking for the moment a work of art turns into a utilitarian object (or, possibly, the other way around). Ieva’s artwork materializes in a variety of forms and mediums, sometimes even chameleonic in nature, for instance, when she transforms the Notre Dame de Paris into a grilled cheese sandwich (2017). At the moment, Ieva Putniņa might just be getting her doctorate degree at the Malta Institute of the Inner World.
Kaspars Gro’wevs, born in 1913, took his first steps as a mature artist on the 25th of September that same year, when he made an elephant out of a fly. Having discovered how easy it is to do, he chased the sun all the way to Middle Africa, still making elephants on the way and increasing their population. When no flies were left on the continent, Kaspars travelled back to Riga in the 90s and turned to haiku and the art of life, as one well-informed man is worth two men. His artistic expressions shake up Riga everyday, thus making the world shake.