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For those who choose joy

Khulkar Yunusova

I am an Uzbek–French artist.
Not by theme, but by life.

I was born between languages, gestures, and ways of caring.
Uzbekistan lives in me as memory, ritual, silence, and warmth.
France shaped my gaze — structure, distance, form, and visibility.

My work exists where these two worlds do not merge politely,
but rub against each other, creating tension, poetry, and truth.
Before fully committing to art, I worked in pediatric oncology.
There, I learned that beauty is not decoration.
Today, my practice unfolds through drawing, textile, and ritual gestures.
I create works that are meant to be lived with — worn, held, carried.
Art as a companion, not an object of domination.

Motherhood transformed my rhythm and my perception of time.

My work speaks about the feminine body, memory, transmission,
and the fragile dialogue between East and West —
not as an identity statement,
but as a lived condition.
I believe joy is not innocence.
It is resistance.
And living, like art,
is a conscious act.

You see a plant.
I see a blessing.

You see a tree standing quietly under the sun of Samarkand.
I see time made visible.

This pistachio tree is not just growing. It is remembering.
Its roots travel deeper than language, touching the same soil that carried caravans, whispers, departures, returns. Long before us, it learned how to survive without noise.

You see branches.
I see hands—open, patient, offering.

Each leaf holds a kind of silence I recognize. Not empty, but full. The silence of things that endure without asking to be seen. The kind of presence that does not perform, yet remains.

In a world that rushes, this tree refuses urgency. It grows slowly, almost invisibly, and yet it gives—season after season. Not everything that feeds us announces itself.

You see pistachios.
I see gestures of care.

Something in this tree understands generosity better than we do. It transforms light, wind, and time into nourishment. No spectacle, no explanation. Just a quiet act of giving.

I think of the Silk Road passing nearby, of merchants who might have rested under its shadow, of stories exchanged in fragments. Perhaps this tree heard them all. Perhaps it kept them.

You see a plant rooted in one place.
I see a bridge.

Between past and present. Between land and memory. Between what is visible and what is felt.

There is a reason certain trees are called blessings. Not because they are rare, but because they remind us how to exist—grounded, patient, and open.

You see a plant.
I see a blessing.

And maybe, if you stay a little longer, you will begin to see it too.

#YouSeeISee
#ArtOfSeeing
#PoeticArt
#drawings
#ContemporaryArt
#ArtWriting
#VisualPoetry
#TextBasedArt
#ArtNarrative
#SlowArt
#PresenceNotObject
#SpiritualArt
#SymbolicArt
#TreeOfLife
#PistachioTree
#Samarkand
#UzbekistanArt
#SilkRoad
#MemoryAndPlace
#RootsAndStories
#NatureAsArt
#SacredNature
#QuietPower
#MotherArtist
#StellaPolareArtiste
#khulkaryunusova
#ArtLovers
#GalleryArt
#EmergingArtist
##khulkaryunusova

You see drawing, I see blessing

You see a skeleton. I see the anatomy of memory.
Not bones, but what remains after impact. Not structure, but a reconstruction.
A body that remembers even when it tries to stand still.
This work was created by Cathy de Monchaux after she experienced an accident — a loss of consciousness, a collision, a moment when the body no longer belongs to itself. And that is why before you is not simply a unicorn figure, but a form born from the experience of impact of the body and becomes a language of memory. Each “rib” is not construction, but a trace. An attempt to hold form after разрушение. This is not a skeleton as a foundation, but as a witness.
In this sense, the work enters into dialogue with Azamat Khatamov, where the horse is not a symbol of strength, but a carrier of trauma and memory. His images are bodies that have passed through history, through pressure, through the loss of stability. The horse there is an archive.
From a Western perspective, this language of vulnerability and fragmentation can be associated with Louise Bourgeois, where the body becomes a site of stored trauma, and form a way to hold it. Or with Kiki Smith, whose sculptures reveal anatomy as a field of inner experience, where the boundary between body and memory dissolves.
From an Eastern perspective, there is resonance with Chiharu Shiota — her thread installations function as visualizations of memory, where emptiness is as important as presence. And with Almagul Menlibayeva, where body and myth intertwine, creating images in which trauma and transformation coexist.
The horn is a key gesture.
It shifts the work from reality into myth — not for decoration, but as a survival tool. The horse is a fact. The unicorn is a way to survive that fact.
You see gaps between forms.
I see breath slowly returning.
There seems to be no stability in this object. In its idea, it balances on the edge — between disintegration and keeping it, between the body and its absence.
As a mother, as a woman, you read this differently —
as someone who has lived through much: something was born, something was reborn, something became as wild as a she-wolf.
And it stands —
not as a completed form, but as a force that has passed through rupture and learned to live again in a new state.

#stellapolareartiste #khulkaryunusova #ContemporaryArt, #ConceptualArt, #ArtCriticism, #ArtWriting, #Sculpture, #InstallationArt, #BodyAndMemory, #TraumaInArt, #ArtAsHealing, #FemininePower, #MotherArtist, #WomenInArt, #ArtAndEmotion, #ArtNarrative, #VisualPhilosophy, #EastMeetsWestArt, #Materiality, #FragilityAndStrength, #PoeticArt, #ArtReflection, #ArtCollectors, #EmergingArtist, #ArtSceneParis, #StellaPolareArtiste, #YouSeeISee #unicorn

You see a skeleton. I see the anatomy of memory.

You see heaviness, I see an ode to femininity.
Before you is a necklace created by Fanny Acquart Gensollen.

At first glance — it is mass. A form that does not seek lightness, that does not try to dissolve into the body. This is not jewelry in the traditional sense. It does not enhance, it does not decorate, it does not make things “more beautiful.” It is present. It occupies space, and in this gesture there is something almost architectural: the body is no longer the center, but the support.

The practice of Fanny Acquart Gensollen has always existed at the boundary between craft and sculpture. Her works are held in the collections of the Musée des Arts Décoratifs and La Piscine Museum, yet beyond institutional recognition, what matters is the shift she creates: jewelry ceases to be an accessory and becomes an object. Her collaborations with designers such as Thierry Mugler reinforce this — her pieces do not complete a look, they construct it, sometimes even impose it.

Here, a reversal takes place. Jewelry no longer serves the body. The body serves the form. Femininity ceases to be synonymous with lightness — it acquires weight, density, resistance. This is no longer about ornament. It is about the right to occupy space.

In her hands, ceramics become a paradox. A material known for its fragility visually gains weight. The forms are asymmetrical, organic, sometimes almost bodily — they evoke bones, mineral fragments, frozen gestures. The glazes, deep and vibrant, create the sensation of a living surface, as if this were not an object, but an extension of skin. Each necklace is unique, as if it had grown rather than been made.

You see a necklace. I see an architecture of presence.
You see weight. I see the right to be visible.
You see ceramics. I see a skin that is no longer afraid to occupy space.

This work resonates with multiple traditions. On one side — a Western lineage where jewelry becomes a concept: from Elsa Schiaparelli to Alexander Calder, where form exceeds function. On the other — an Eastern memory, where jewelry has always been weighty, meaningful, almost protective: Central Asian adornments, Indian ritual ornaments, Chinese jade culture, where material carries energy rather than mere decoration. This is not a synthesis — it is a tension between worlds.

And this tension becomes a social gesture. In a world where women are still expected to be light, discreet, convenient, this necklace asserts the opposite. It refuses comfort. It demands space. It affirms that femininity can be heavy, loud, visible.

In the maternal body, this gesture resonates even more deeply. After giving birth, the body already knows weight. The weight of another body, the weight of responsibility, the weight of sleepless nights. In this context, a piece of jewelry that does not pretend to be light becomes almost honest. It does not add weight — it acknowledges it.

The philosophical conflict remains open. Is it jewelry or sculpture? An object or an extension of the body? Beauty or power? The works of Fanny Acquart Gensollen do not answer. They hold the question in place.

Between East and West, there is no reconciliation — only a field of tension. The West brings the idea of form as concept. The East brings the memory of weight as meaning. And from this dissonance, a new femininity emerges — not as an image, but as a state.

And at a certain point, you stop seeing the object. You begin to feel it on your own body. As if the neck already remembers the form, as if the body has already agreed to carry its weight.

You return to yourself. To your body. To your breath. And the question becomes simple, almost physical: what do I allow myself to wear? Lightness — or strength?

There is no answer.
There is only a form that challenges.

#contemporaryjewelry, #artjewelry, #ceramicjewelry, #sculpturaljewelry, #fannyacquart, #femininepower, #bodyascanvas, #wearableart, #conceptualart, #materialculture, #artcollector, #parisartist, #womeninart, #texturedart, #glazeceramics, #avantgardejewelry, #artobject, #beyondbeauty, #visiblewoman

You see heaviness, I see an ode to femininity / the art of jewelery by Fanny Acquart Gensollen.

You see a tongue.
I see the moment before a child learns to hold it.

To stay kind.
To stay acceptable.
To stay loved.

I see how early we learn
that harmony is sometimes more important than truth.

You see an object.
I see a future voice being shaped.

Anu Põder, Lickers, 2007
metal mesh, aluminum foil, textile
150 × 30 × 82 cm and 66 × 38 × 72 cm
Anu Põder Estate. Photo: Hedi Jaansoo

#contemporaryart
#conceptualart
#artandpolitics
#bodypolitics
#femininevoice

You see tongue, I see politics

This is not a nature morte. This is a portrait. A portrait of a mother who is tired of cooking, who has reached what the French would call à point — that fragile, invisible moment where something is no longer in transformation, but on the edge of stopping.
This work by Muhtabar Yuldasheva appears, at first glance, as a simple table: vegetables, raw eggs, elements of daily life. The visual language recalls the quiet intimacy of Jean-Baptiste-Siméon Chardin or the structural tension of Paul Cézanne, where objects are arranged, contained, almost obedient.
But here, something resists.
Nothing is prepared. Nothing is resolved. The eggs remain raw — intact, holding within them a transformation that has not yet begun. This is not contemplation; it is suspension. A moment before — or perhaps a refusal.
You see vegetables and raw eggs on a table.
I see a mother who has nothing left to give tonight.
In the lineage of vanitas, as in Willem Claesz Heda, objects often signal time passing and inevitable decay. Yet here, time is arrested. Nothing decays because nothing has started. The tension lies in the unacted gesture. It resonates with Martha Rosler, where the kitchen becomes a site of silent resistance, and with Lee Ufan, where objects are not tools but presences — traces of being rather than instruments of function.
This is the space of invisible labor — repetitive, expected, unacknowledged. Cooking here is no longer care but structure. And quietly, without noise, the structure breaks. Nothing happens.
The maternal body emerges not as an icon, but as a limit. A body still present, yet withdrawing from its role. A body that says: enough.
The raw egg becomes philosophical: pure potential, or refusal to transform. To cook is to continue the cycle of giving. Not to cook is to suspend it — to remain in possibility, or to reclaim existence beyond function.
Between East and West, the work breathes in tension. The Western gaze seeks completion, productivity, the finished act. The Eastern sensibility allows pause, incompletion, silence. This work inhabits that threshold — where not acting becomes a form of presence.
Its climax is almost imperceptible: nothing is cooked. And yet, everything is at stake in this nothingness.
The body returns softly. Hands remain still. The gaze releases control. Fatigue becomes visible, central, undeniable.
And the question remains open: will the gesture resume, or can the pause exist on its own?
For the first time, the question is not what will be prepared, but whether it is possible not to prepare at all.

#contemporaryart, #motherartist, #invisiblelabor, #domesticspace, #stilllife, #naturemorte, #femininegaze, #maternalbody, #artanalysis, #conceptualart, #poeticart, #artwriting, #visualculture, #eastwestdialogue, #uzbekart, #centralasianart, #muhtabaryuldasheva, #slowart, #presence, #fatigue, #burnout, #carework, #kitchenpolitics, #semioticsofthekitchen, #minimalism, #existentialart, #bodyandspace, #artandlife, #poetryofobjects, #stellapolareartiste #stellapolareartiste

artwork "A point" by Muhtabar Yuldasheva #egg #cooking

You see a rag, I see the reinvention of the self.
A black fabric stretched across a white space appears almost accidental, nearly forgotten — as if it were placed here for a moment and left behind. But the longer you look, the clearer it becomes: this is not abandonment, it is a decision. A form that refuses to be finished.
This work belongs to Anu Põder, an Estonian artist whose practice exists on the threshold between the body and its absence, between softness and inner tension. Her materials are never neutral: they are lived, they carry traces, as if they have already been a body — or are about to become one.
It lies like a path that has been walked by a body. The folds are not decorative — they are lived. They record moments when something could not be straightened, when strength did not match expectation, when movement stopped but did not disappear. There is no heroism here. No gesture of victory. Only the honesty of a material that refuses to pretend smoothness.
You see fabric.
I see a body in transition.
At the end, the fabric rises, as if trying to stand. But it does not fully rise. And in this unfinished gesture lies all the tension. Because we were taught: form must be achieved, the line must be completed, the body must be composed. But here, composition does not happen. And that is precisely what makes the work exact.
It speaks of a state that rarely becomes visible: when you are no longer who you were, but not yet who you are supposed to become. When you are in-between. When you are not falling — but not standing either.
There is something deeply physical in this, and profoundly maternal. After giving birth, the body no longer belongs only to itself. It undergoes transformations that cannot be undone. It stretches, loses its former boundaries, and then is expected to return — to its previous form, its previous image, its previous strength. But what if there is no return? What if the only possibility is reinvention?
And so the fabric becomes a body. Not ideal, not sculptural, but alive — with memory, with resistance, with the right not to straighten itself.
In this work, one can hear echoes of Louise Bourgeois, where softness is not weakness but psyche turned outward. There is also the gesture of Joseph Beuys, where material holds experience like an archive of warmth and pain. And in this almost theatrical fragility, a dialogue emerges with Annette Messager, where the soft suddenly becomes unsettling, almost painfully vulnerable.
But there is also the breath of the East — not as stylistic reference, but as a way of being. In the softness of the form, there is a contemplative emptiness close to the Japanese concept of ma — the pause that is itself content. In the acceptance of folds, imperfection, and incompleteness, one senses the aesthetic of wabi-sabi, where a crack is not a flaw but the truth of form.
One might also think of Kimsooja, where fabric becomes a body of migration, a carrier of memory, a silent witness of existence. Or Kazuo Shiraga, whose body literally became the tool of painting — just as here the fabric becomes an extension of movement, even if that movement has been halted.
Socially, this is almost a provocation. We live in a culture of straightening: bodies, lines, biographies. We are taught to be functional, composed, ready. But this work refuses to comply. It leaves the folds visible. It does not hide fatigue. It does not correct itself for the gaze of the other.
And here a conflict emerges: is it possible to exist outside the form that is expected of you? Is it possible to be a process rather than a result?
Somewhere here, East and West meet. The West seeks completion, clarity of form, a defined gesture. The East allows incompleteness, movement, fluidity. This work chooses neither side. It remains in transition. It does not correct the fabric — it listens to it.
And suddenly, looking at it, you return to your own body. You remember moments when you had no strength to gather yourself. When you lay down — not out of weakness, but out of necessity. When form dissolved so that something else could emerge.
Perhaps this is the point where reinvention begins. Not in strength, but in the refusal of a former form.
And then this “rag” ceases to be an object.
It becomes a state.
A state that does not yet have a name.

#AnuPoder
#ContemporaryArt
#TextileArt
#SoftSculpture
#MaterialPoetics
#BodyAndMatter
#FeminineGaze
#MotherArtist
#PostpartumBody
#EmbodiedArt
#ArtAndMemory
#SculptureInstallation
#MinimalArt
#ConceptualArt
#ProcessNotProduct
#InBetweenStates
#WabiSabi
#MaSpace
#EastMeetsWest
#ArtPhilosophy
#SilentForms
#ArtWriting
#YouSeeISee
#ArtAsTransformation
#PoeticArt
#ContemporarySculpture
#MaterialThinking
#FragileStrength
#ArtAndIdentity
#StellaPolareArtiste

you see towel, I see state / the Anu Poder textile sculpture at Musée Art Moderne

At first glance, we are confronted with a complex, almost chaotic construction — a hybrid form composed of heterogeneous materials: metal, glass, textiles, ceramics, bricks. The object resembles at once a vehicle, a body, and a temporary shelter.
This is a work by Kris Lemsalu, Car2Go (2016).
The title sounds functional.
Almost like a service.
Almost like a promise of movement.
But here, movement
is not about comfort.
It is movement through instability.
The central form evokes a body wrapped in blankets, almost like a sleeping bag.
Above it — fragments of a car, resembling wings.
On the sides — ceramic heads, almost totemic.
In the background — figures carrying umbrellas.
The structure is not unified.
It is assembled.
Like memory.
Like experience.
Like a journey.
You see an object.
I see a condition.
Because this is not a sculpture in the classical sense.
It is an assemblage.
An assemblage of a world that can no longer hold itself together.
You see a vehicle.
I see a body in transit.
A body that does not belong to one place.
A body that moves.
That searches.
That does not fully know where it is going.
And here, the origins of the work matter.
It draws from the protests in Hong Kong — the “Umbrella Movement” —
and at the same time from a funeral procession the artist witnessed in Sri Lanka.
Protest and ritual.
Movement forward
and movement of farewell.
You see a procession.
I see a passage.
A passage between states.
Between life and loss.
Between action and acceptance.
The umbrella figures in this work
no longer protect from rain.
They become a sign.
A sign of resistance.
And at the same time — a sign of vulnerability.
In this tension, one can hear echoes of Ai Weiwei, where collective movement becomes a form of expression,
and Mona Hatoum, where space turns into an unstable condition of being.
As well as Shirin Neshat, where the body is always inscribed within political and cultural systems.
You see a form.
I see instability.
Because nothing here is fixed.
Materials do not align.
Images do not resolve into a single system.
And precisely in this — lies its truth.
We live in a world
where wholeness can no longer be sustained.
Where everything is assembled from fragments.
You see a collage.
I see reality.
A reality in which different narratives
overlap and coexist.
Protest.
Migration.
Memory.
Loss.
And here, another layer emerges.
You see movement.
I see the search for a home.
Because this structure
is not a vehicle.
It is an attempt
to create a place
within movement.
And here, my perspective appears —
the perspective of a mother.
Because motherhood, too,
is a journey.
Not linear.
Not stable.
Not guaranteed.
In this wrapped body,
I recognize something deeply familiar.
A body that protects.
A body that carries.
A body that continues to move,
even when it does not know where it is going.
You see a form.
I see care within instability.
And here, the question shifts.
How do we live today,
when the world itself is unstable?
How do we move,
when direction is uncertain?
We see conflict.
We see displacement.
We see the fragmentation of systems.
And still —
we continue.
You see a process.
I see a decision.
The decision to move forward.
Because perhaps today,
life is not about stability.
It is about the ability
to move within instability.
And then this work is no longer about transport.
Nor only about protest.
Nor only about ritual.
It becomes about a state of being.
You see an object.
I see a world in transition.
A world that is no longer fixed.
A world that is constantly shifting.
And perhaps today, the task
is not to restore wholeness.
But to hold fragments together.
Even if they will never
become one.
#contemporaryart #artwriting #artcriticism #curatorialtext #artanalysis
#krislemsalu #installationart #sculptureart #mixedmediaart #assemblageart
#conceptualart #contemporaryartist #artandpolitics #bodyinart #artandthebody
#motherartist #femininegaze #maternalperspective #careasart #embodiedart
#eastwestdialogue #globalart #artandmigration #artandmemory #artandidentity
#artandlife #youseeisee #slowart #poeticart #stellapolareartiste

Car2go by Kris Lemsalu

At first glance, we are confronted with a complex, almost chaotic construction — a hybrid form composed of heterogeneous materials: metal, glass, textiles, ceramics, bricks. The object resembles at once a vehicle, a body, and a temporary shelter.
This is a work by Kris Lemsalu, Car2Go (2016).
The title sounds functional.
Almost like a service.
Almost like a promise of movement.
But here, movement
is not about comfort.
It is movement through instability.
The central form evokes a body wrapped in blankets, almost like a sleeping bag.
Above it — fragments of a car, resembling wings.
On the sides — ceramic heads, almost totemic.
In the background — figures carrying umbrellas.
The structure is not unified.
It is assembled.
Like memory.
Like experience.
Like a journey.
You see an object.
I see a condition.
Because this is not a sculpture in the classical sense.
It is an assemblage.
An assemblage of a world that can no longer hold itself together.
You see a vehicle.
I see a body in transit.
A body that does not belong to one place.
A body that moves.
That searches.
That does not fully know where it is going.
And here, the origins of the work matter.
It draws from the protests in Hong Kong — the “Umbrella Movement” —
and at the same time from a funeral procession the artist witnessed in Sri Lanka.
Protest and ritual.
Movement forward
and movement of farewell.
You see a procession.
I see a passage.
A passage between states.
Between life and loss.
Between action and acceptance.
The umbrella figures in this work
no longer protect from rain.
They become a sign.
A sign of resistance.
And at the same time — a sign of vulnerability.
In this tension, one can hear echoes of Ai Weiwei, where collective movement becomes a form of expression,
and Mona Hatoum, where space turns into an unstable condition of being.
As well as Shirin Neshat, where the body is always inscribed within political and cultural systems.
You see a form.
I see instability.
Because nothing here is fixed.
Materials do not align.
Images do not resolve into a single system.
And precisely in this — lies its truth.
We live in a world
where wholeness can no longer be sustained.
Where everything is assembled from fragments.
You see a collage.
I see reality.
A reality in which different narratives
overlap and coexist.
Protest.
Migration.
Memory.
Loss.
And here, another layer emerges.
You see movement.
I see the search for a home.
Because this structure
is not a vehicle.
It is an attempt
to create a place
within movement.
And here, my perspective appears —
the perspective of a mother.
Because motherhood, too,
is a journey.
Not linear.
Not stable.
Not guaranteed.
In this wrapped body,
I recognize something deeply familiar.
A body that protects.
A body that carries.
A body that continues to move,
even when it does not know where it is going.
You see a form.
I see care within instability.
And here, the question shifts.
How do we live today,
when the world itself is unstable?
How do we move,
when direction is uncertain?
We see conflict.
We see displacement.
We see the fragmentation of systems.
And still —
we continue.
You see a process.
I see a decision.
The decision to move forward.
Because perhaps today,
life is not about stability.
It is about the ability
to move within instability.
And then this work is no longer about transport.
Nor only about protest.
Nor only about ritual.
It becomes about a state of being.
You see an object.
I see a world in transition.
A world that is no longer fixed.
A world that is constantly shifting.
And perhaps today, the task
is not to restore wholeness.
But to hold fragments together.
Even if they will never
become one.

$At first glance, we are faced with a strange composition — almost playful, almost naive. Colorful ceramic fragments resembling letters, bodies, masks, and a stretched textile that seems to connect them into a soft, fluid statement. This is a work by Kris Lemsalu, H-O-P-E (2026). A word assembled through form. A word that can be read. And yet, one that resists trust. Because here, “hope” is not a promise. It is a condition held at the edge. Above the fragments, a piece of fabric stretches — almost like a line, almost like a bridge. It is not tightly pulled. It sags. As if even hope cannot fully withstand the tension of the world. You see clownish masks. I see a cry of hope. Because each letter here is not a sign, but a body. Fragmented. Reassembled. Slightly unstable. As if language can no longer hold meaning directly. It has to be reconstructed — from fragments, from remnants, from what has not yet collapsed. It may appear as play. But inside — fragility. Ceramic is solid, yet easily breakable. Textile is soft, yet unable to hold shape. And between them, a tension emerges — between structure and collapse. There is something almost childlike in this. And at the same time — unsettling. As in the practices of Mike Kelley or Paul McCarthy, where play becomes a way to expose the absurdity of systems. But here, there is no aggression. There is vulnerability. The word “hope” here reads as a question. Because today, hope is no longer given as certainty. It hesitates. It feels almost awkward. And this is why it is important to expand the geography of this feeling. In contemporary Eastern art, hope is rarely presented as affirmation. It appears instead as tension. In the works of Shirin Neshat, the body holds the contradiction between inner and outer worlds. With Mona Hatoum, space becomes a fragile zone of instability. In Lee Bul’s practice, utopia is already fractured before it is complete. And in Cao Fei’s work, the future appears as simulation — a space where hope exists, but is never guaranteed. You see form. I see the state of the world. We live in a world filled with instability. Too much tension. Too much uncertainty. And yet — we continue to have children. You see life. I see a decision. A decision to continue. Despite everything. Because giving birth today is not naïve. It is an act. Almost political. Almost existential. We know the world is unstable. We know the future is not guaranteed. And still — we choose continuation. You see a child. I see a hope that doubts itself. And at this point, the work shifts. It is no longer about a word. It becomes about a process. About how “hope” is assembled — from fragments, from imperfection, from fragility. It is not a finished form. It is an attempt. An attempt to hold meaning as it continuously slips away. And here, my perspective emerges — the perspective of a mother. Because motherhood today is also a form of hope. But not a perfect one. A constructed one. I know the world is unstable. I know it can be dangerous. And still — I hold this word within me. You see “hope.” I see a form of clownery. One we are all part of. Where everything feels slightly absurd. Slightly fragile. Slightly unstable. And at the same time — deeply real. Because perhaps hope today does not appear as certainty. It appears as persistence. The composition holds a delicate balance. Between collapse and continuation. Between gesture and its impossibility. Between belief and doubt. And so the question becomes personal. How do we live today? How do we continue? Without denying danger. But without surrendering to it entirely. Perhaps hope today is not belief in a better future. But the ability to keep moving forward. You see a word. I see a space. A space where a future is still possible. Even if it remains undefined. And perhaps creating today is not about affirming hope. But about holding it. In this fragile, contradictory, living state. Even if it is never complete. #contemporaryart #artwriting #curatorialtext #artessay #installationart #sculptureart #conceptualart #artcriticism #visualculture #artandphilosophy #stellapolareartiste #motherartist #poeticart #motherartist #maternalgaze #motherhoodandart #artcollector #femininegaze #artwriting #slowart #contemporaryart #feminineperspective #embodiedart #careaspractice #hope #fragility #uncertainty #resilience #presence #existentialart #eastwestdialogue #globalart #posthumancondition #artandpolitics #krislemsalu #khulkaryunusova #artistsoninstagram #stellapolareartiste$

Hope by Kris Lemsalu #stellapolareartiste #motherartist #poeticart #khulkaryunusova

stellapolare_artiste_paris

Art, life through Uzbek-French mother artist's eyes
Founder @maison_stella_polare
@institute_of_uzbekistan
@silk_scarves_stellapolare

You see a plant. I see a blessing. You see a tree

You see a skeleton. I see the anatomy of memory. N

Everyday I look at the mirror and I know that I'm

I’m not ashamed to say that I still have suicidal

I would like to thank the students of UzSWLU for t

After the présentation for on the French letter H

You see a flower drawing, I see memory held in a m

You see a body. I see destiny. Not a complete bod

You see scams. I see reinvention. At first glance,

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