Current Exhibition

Spinoza returns to Vidigueira

18/04/2025 - 30/03/2026

Eylem Aladogan, Thierry de Cordier, Keith Edmier, Olafur Eliasson, Simon Fujiwara, Thomas Hirschhorn, Roni Horn, Tetsumi Kudo, Kinke Kooi, Job Koelewijn, Robert Longo, Cristina Lucas, Navid Nuur, Falke Pisano, Anri Sala, Fernando Sánchez Castillo, Emma Talbot

Spinoza returns to Vidigueira

According to Spinoza, our perception of reality is shaped by our individual point of perspective and the instruments we use to gain an understanding of it. When our perspective is limited or even dogmatic, we just grasp a limited part of reality. While true knowledge of our world is gained through active and continuous exchange of free thought.

Great art also challenges our perspective on the world. And it is no coincidence that many artists have been inspired by Spinoza, whose texts can be interpreted as a meditation on either rationalism or metaphysics, on either atheism or pantheism, on either democracy or totalitarianism. There seems to be a Spinoza for everyone. The artists in this exhibition touch upon a variety of Spinoza’s thoughts. They invite the subconscious to speak and celebrate our ability to reason. They find ways to orient ourselves within the bigger whole or even blur the boundaries between human and nonhuman bodies, revealing a shared sensuality with the natural world. Some of them challenge binaries entirely of gender, body and spirit, or nature and God. 

With polarization and climate change looming over us, the philosophy of Spinoza, the philosophy of free thinking, ethics and interconnectedness, is more relevant than ever. As Portuguese jews, Spinoza’s own family was religiously persecuted and had to flee to the Netherlands. Showing these works in Quetzal Art Center in Vidigueira, the birthplace of Spinoza’s father, is thus all the more special.  

Curated by Aveline de Bruin.

(Texts: Anna Lillioja)

Read the publication in Independent Collectors.

Back to blog

Spinoza’s Life – From Vidigueira to Amsterdam


Bento de Spinoza, also called Baruch or later Benedictus, was born in 1632 in Amsterdam, the son of Portuguese-Jewish refugees. His father, Michael d’Espinosa, a son of a wealthy merchant, hailed from Vidigueira, where the family had lived for generations. After the expulsion of Jews during the inquisition in Spain and Portugal in 1492 and 1497, many – including the Spinozas – fled the Iberian Peninsula. They stopped briefly in Nantes and eventually found refuge in the relatively tolerant Amsterdam. The city, since the fall of Antwerp, had become the new maritime and trading centre, and a place where Jewish life could cautiously flourish again.

Spinoza grew up in Amsterdam’s vibrant Jewish quarter, ‘Vlooienburg’, mostly home to Sephardi Jews, who built their synagogues there – the large Portuguese Synagogue still stands today. He was educated in the Jewish tradition, but soon became captivated by the radical new ideas of his time – especially the philosophy of Descartes and the discoveries of emerging science.

In 1656, Spinoza was excommunicated from the Jewish community, likely for his unorthodox views. The ban meant total exclusion – but it also freed him to think and write without religious constraints. He learned Latin, became part of a circle of freethinkers and scientists and supported himself by grinding optical lenses, used, among others, by the renowned scientist and astronomer Christiaan Huygens. Not only his thoughts, but also his lenses, gave people a more profound view on life.

Though cautious about publishing, Spinoza dared to speak out. His Theological-Political Treatise, published anonymously in 1670, was a bold defence of freedom of thought and expression, maintaining close ties with friends and intellectuals across Europe. He lived a modest and independent life, caring more for feeding the mind than indulging the body. Later in life he is said to have sustained himself on raisins and milk-porridge. By some he was called ‘Mister Spinach’, after the leafy vegetable said to nourish the brain.

Spinoza died in 1677 at the age of 44, most likely from tuberculosis. It is believed that his dust-rich optical work, while sharpening lenses, dulled his lungs, and contributed to his declining health. His philosophical work – considered dangerous at the time – was quickly banned but continued to circulate underground. Over time, his ideas helped shape modern philosophy, science, and democracy.

And in some way, it all began here, in Vidigueira, the birthplace of his father – where a radically independent mind took root.

>> Read more about Spinoza's philosophy.

-

Cristina Lucas


In To the Wild Cristina Lucas reimagines an old method of humiliation and exile. In the practice of ‘tar and feather’ a woman prisoner’s hair is cut, her body covered with tar and then feathers, after which she is paraded through the streets and left outside the city. Once a common punishment, in Lucas’ work the exiling ritual becomes a means of reconnecting to nature and finding one’s place in the natural order of things. An order we can, according to Spinoza, sense with our most direct form of thinking: intuition. Lucas writes that Spinoza’s thoughts accompanied her on her journey of becoming profoundly connected to nature.

Spinoza too was excommunicated from his society: the Jewish community of Amsterdam. His thoughts challenged traditional views on power and religion that lived in that community. Still, he believed that societies are a natural extension of human nature. Just as individuals are indispensable parts of God/Nature, societies are too. They are formed through connection over reciprocal wants and needs. But, obedience to such a society or state should be rooted in reason and common interest, not blind submission.

Though intuition is our most immediate knowledge of the world, Spinoza thought we should use reason to understand the causes behind what we feel or experience. So that we can be freed of a passive life, led by emotions. At the same time, the society we live in can blur our reasoning, making it necessary to break free of its dogmatic thought.

-

Navid Nuur

The works of Navid Nuur often engage with natural elements – ashes, light, air, tears – to create experiences that feel wondrous. Some have even called him a modern-day alchemist for blending materials into new substances. Yet, as Nuur himself points out, his art is not esoteric. It, instead, offers a point of departure for reflection.

Spinoza would likely have appreciated Nuur’s work for several reasons. Spinoza rejected the existence of miracles, arguing that what people perceive as wondrous are merely natural, scientific phenomena not yet understood. They also share a deep respect for all material elements as equal parts of a greater whole – none inherently superior to another. As Nuur once said, he sees no difference between working with a human being, a room, a beam of light, or a church.

A final kinship between the philosopher and the artist emerges in Nuur’s work Ours, which features a microscopic image of a human tear – presumably his own. Up close, the dried salt has crystallized into tiny, landscape-like formations. The tear becomes a world in itself. In a letter to Henry Oldenburg, Spinoza uses a similar metaphor to explore perspective. He imagines a bloodworm living in a drop of blood, perceiving the small particles of it as a self-contained reality. The worm, due to its limited view, is unaware it exists within a larger body.

Likewise, when we examine a tear through a magnifying lens, we uncover crystals, bacteria – invisible to the naked eye. What seems simple becomes complex, depending on the perspective and tools we use. If we forget this, we won’t ever understand the true nature of the world. For in our complex and connected world everything depends on everything else and nothing truly belongs to just one of us; it is instead all Ours.

Fernando Sánchez Castillo

What is peace? A question of great relevance in today’s world, where not only classic wars rage, but apparently peaceful countries are threatened with hybrid forms or warfare: misinformation, sabotage, division of people. In Guernica Spinoza by Fernando Sánchez Castillo a neon art-work flickers in morse code, spelling out:

PEACE IS NOT AN ABSENCE OF WAR | IT IS A VIRTUE | A STATE OF MIND | A DISPOSITION FOR BENEVOLENCE | CONFIDENCE | JUSTICE |

.--. . .- -.-. . .. ... -. --- - .- -. .- -... ... . -. -.-. . --- ..-. .-- .- .-. | .. - .. ... .- ...- .. .-. - ..- . | .- ... - .- - . --- ..-. -- .. -. -.. | .- -.. .. ... .--. --- ... .. - .. --- -. ..-. --- .-. -... . -. . ...- --- .-.. . -. -.-. . | -.-. --- -. ..-. .. -.. . -. -.-. . | .--- ..- ... - .. -.-. . |

Sánchez Castillo is directly inspired by the words of Spinoza, who in his Tractatus Politicus wrote: “Peace is not merely the absence of war, but a virtue born from the strength of the spirit.” Spinoza believes that peace is not a passive state, but a dynamic; a constant effort of thoughts and actions directed towards achieving a peaceful society. Guernica refers to one of the most famous anti-war artworks: Guernica by Pablo Picasso.

In his works Sánchez Castillo examines how historical processes are always influenced and defined, but also corrupted by the creation and use of an ‘aesthetic image’. In morse, a message needs to be precisely constructed, sent out and deciphered by the receiver. It is a reciprocal and careful process, much as attaining peace itself. The work also gains a layer of meaning because morse code is traditionally used as a signal of distress.

-

Keith Edmier

American sculptor Keith Edmier started out as a special effects designer in films, after he learned to make vampire thangs at an after-school job in a dental lab. His works still draw on the craft of creating believable worlds, taking inspiration from everyday life. In this, he echoes Spinoza’s belief that a true image should pulse with life – because both art and nature flow from the same source. Edmier’s choice of materials is as unconventional as Spinoza’s philosophy was radical: dental acrylic, silicone rubber, volcanic ash.

In Your Erogenous Zones, he has sculpted two lifelike seahorses in an intimate embrace. The weeds they cling to resemble strands of DNA. The sculpture’s entwined forms evoke Spinoza’s idea of the interconnectedness of all things.

Although Spinoza didn’t regard erotica or sex as enlightened – he often spoke of them in terms of jealousy and obsession rather than love – he did argue that everything exists on a spectrum. Categories such as male and female don’t reflect any absolute truth; they are constructs of our understanding. Seahorses are a symbol of this gender nonconformity: the male carries and births the young. Seahorses, thus, might just have been up Spinoza’s alley.

Job Koelewijn

In the final part of his Ethics, Spinoza suggests that humans can attain an intuitive understanding of the world – and of themselves – as eternal. Dutch artist Job Koelewijn similarly proposes that we are not merely observers of time or perceivers of reality, but integral parts of a timeless universe.

For Koelewijn, reality and representation are inseparable – art must embody the same force as the world it reflects. Spinoza’s words serve as literal building blocks in several of Koelewijn’s works – for instance, he records himself reading Ethics onto tapes, which are later assembled into a sculpture.

In stop-animation Collage/Storyboard the artist creates a personal synthesis of texts that inspire him the most. Layers of quotes on paper build upon each other to form an eccentric, continuous library of sorts, connecting Spinoza to Spakenburg’s traditional clothing to historic cleansing methods and even to Dickie Dik. A circular design is cut out of the multiple layers of paper, reminding of the year rings of a tree – of growth, accumulation and expansion. Instead of using his voice, Koelewijn lets his body speak: the diameter of all the circular works is precisely his height – 1.86 meters. The work juxtaposes a portrait of Spinoza and a pendulum.

In Nursery Piece pages of Ethics are the foundation of the installation. While the eucalypt smell clears our senses, a mandala-like pattern of coloured sands imprints Spinoza’s texts into the viewer's mind. The mandala is carefully constructed and wiped up for every exhibition, much as in a real mandala ritual. A deeper connection between the philosophy of Spinoza and Buddhism is up to the perceiver. The fragile beauty of this piece – the sand can easily be blown away – reminds us of nature’s impermanence, yet also its circularity.

Robert Longo

Through doors we enter both familiar and unknown worlds. In Untitled (exterior street door with name plate and peep hole) by Robert Longo, a darkly rendered drawing of a doorway, this sense of mystery is intensified. As we step closer, we discover the name on the plate: Sigmund Freud. Opening up an even more symbolic threshold – a promise of access to the private world of the father of psychoanalysis. Similarly, the inner life of Spinoza is also familiar and unfamiliar. His thoughts were known through his writings, but his relational, private life remained an enigma. Especially later in his life he lived quite as the recluse in a village outside of Leiden, stating that his friends visited him more often than he would prefer.

The door also evokes a deeper passage, one that mirrors Freud’s own explorations into the unconscious. It gestures toward Freud’s idea of the subconscious as a space hidden behind everyday awareness. The peephole offers a narrow glimpse into what lies behind the visible, the conscious.

This division between the conscious and the unconscious is a concept Freud shares with Spinoza. Spinoza too believed that our actions are largely driven by hidden causes – by passions and affects of which we are often unaware. Both men believed that through reason and self-knowledge, we can bring our unconscious motivations to light, and begin to act, rather than merely be acted upon.

Longo’s drawing is based on black-and-white photographs taken by Edmund Engelman of Freud’s apartment at Berggasse 19 in Vienna, just before Freud fled the city, much as Spinoza’s Portuguese Jewish family had to flee Vidigueira. His exile and the rise of the nazi’s, confirmed to Freud just how much people are still a playball of their unconscious passions and aggressions, instead of taking responsibility and acting from reason. As he had already written in his Civilization and its Discontents in 1929: “Most people do not really want freedom, because freedom involves responsibility, and most people are frightened of responsibility.”

Untitled (Virgil, after H.B.) shows the back panels of Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights, which depict the third day of Earth’s creation. The image is remarkable in that the world is presented as an independent entity within a transparent sphere, rather than as a globe held in God’s hand – the more common depiction at the time. This vision resonates with Spinoza’s idea of Nature not as something created by God, but as the very source of all life – and of God – itself. The depiction of the world as its own entity, possibly also emphasizes humanity’s responsibility for its own actions within the world, instead of relying on God’s mercy, much as Spinoza and Freud did.

Kinke Kooi

Dutch artist Kinke Kooi enjoys drawing parallels between the human body and other bodies in nature: cellulite and tree bark, intricate swirling forms that might just as easily be deep-sea corals as human intestines. An intriguing parallel in the lives of Kooi and Spinoza is the freedom they found through rejection by the establishment – Kooi by the art world, Spinoza by the Jewish religious community. At art school, Kooi’s teachers found her style too personal, not abstract enough, and too feminine. For many, that was reason enough not to take her seriously as an artist.

Yet the rejection gave Kooi the freedom to truly follow her own path, liberated from expectations. Just as Spinoza, once excommunicated from the synagogue, had more room to express his ideas freely. His father’s death also marked a turning point – after which Spinoza began to share more of his beliefs. Perhaps this was out of humility for Michael Spinoza, who had to flee his beloved Vidigueira in order to practice Judaism without restriction or persecution.

The work 2 Onbenullen can best be translated as 2 Nitwits. The word nitwit is often used to mean a fool or simpleton. But Kooi draws her onbenullen in a more literal sense: as figures of unknowingness and innocent nakedness. The juxtaposition of a woman’s behind and that of a cow can likewise be read as simplistic in a negative way. But doesn’t that only happen when we assume humans are superior to all other creatures? If we see all beings as equal – as modes of the one God/Nature, as Spinoza did – we might also recognize the positive simplicity of two living beings, alike in their nakedness.

-

Thierry de Cordier

The drawings of philosopher and artist Thierry de Cordier seem to represent nothing and everything at once. And therein lies their hypnotic power: their indistinct forms invite each viewer to make the experience entirely their own. Perhaps, like in a Rorschach test, the drawing does not merely appear to us – we appear within the drawing.

The soft, dark, shadowy shapes suggest a primordial kinship between these creatures. Their immanence – emerging at times almost literally from their background, as in Dos, je… – recalls Spinoza’s belief that all life, thought, and matter are simply modes of one single life source: Nature/God. Everything exists briefly in one form, only to dissolve and transform endlessly into another – rather than being the distinct creations of a transcendent God, summoned from nothingness. Spinoza believed we could feel and know ourselves as eternal in this way. On this he wrote:

“In so far as the mind sees things in their eternal aspect, it participates in eternity.”

Spinoza and De Cordier were both considered rather sober figures. Spinoza had little interest in earthly pleasures, and De Cordier was known as a quiet contemplator who sought refuge in nature and claimed that an artist’s place is at the margins. That might seem paradoxical – for men who spoke of oneness, eternal interconnectedness, and the merging of all things. But their retreat was not a refusal to engage with life. They simply sought true connection outside the maelstrom of the mundane.

Roni Horn

Clowd & Cloun is a series of 32 photographs that alternate between images of clouds and clowns. The work originates from Roni Horn’s mishearing of Stephen Sondheim’s song Send in the Clowns – often mistaken for Send in the Clouds. By using the obsolete spellings of both words, the artist highlights their linguistic proximity and suggests a kind of exchange or entanglement between the two.

With this work, Horn explores the relationship between phenomenon and appearance. When does something truly exist? Or do we summon it into being by thought? A cloud, for example, is not a stable or tangible object – it dissolves, mutates, and, in reality, lacks color. “Really,” Horn explains, “the two objects are both immaterial realities. One in the fabric of nature and the other in the fabric of humankind, but both functioning exclusively through appearance. They have no other life. So that was how they came together.”

The nature of appearance is also central to the philosophy of Spinoza, who believed that all things – living or inanimate – are expressions of a single substance: Nature/God. This one substance reveals itself in many modes: as water, a human, a stone. Each mode may have different attributes – water can be warm, deep, evaporated, and so on. Alongside this physical manifestation is the world of thought, through which substance also exists as an idea. Through thought, water becomes river, or rain, and is embedded with cultural and personal meaning.

In Clowd & Cloun, the images shift gradually from one to the next, growing hazier, more diffuse – as if each is making space for the other to enter, to merge. They seem to dissolve into a shared origin: God/Nature.

-

Olafur Eliasson

Situating ourselves within the world and nature is a central theme in the work of Olafur Eliasson. His installations aren’t just meant to be observed – they are meant to be entered and experienced, creating immersive environments. This 360 Degree Compass uses a magnet to direct an oblong, wooden needle along the north-south axis. The three-dimensional shape makes the act of orienting ourselves not only visible, but physical – walking over to all sides of it and even crouching underneath. It reminds of the earth itself, floating about in free space.

We as humans have developed compasses to orient ourselves – north, west, south, east. Birds and bees feel the earth’s magnetic field in their bodies. Perhaps, if we try we can have an intuitive sense of our place in the world as well. Spinoza believes so. He even thinks intuition is our highest form of knowledge and exists just for the sake of this: to understand how we fit into the greater whole.

Intuition for Spinoza was not something irrational or enigmatic – a connotation it sometimes has in our times. On the contrary: he believed it to be a most direct perception of truths that lie within the intricate, lawful patterns of nature. For he wrote: “Nothing in Nature is random. A thing appears random only through the incompleteness of our knowledge.”

-

Anri Sala

A thousand windows to The world of the Insane by Anri Sala is a set of 66 black and white photographs (of which 16 are displayed) the artist made in 1992 in Tirana. They are accompanied by a list of one hundred and thirty five new newspapers that emerged after the opening of the country in 1990 and lifting of censorship.

The explosion of free expression – as if uncorking a bottle under pressure – in the artwork echoes Spinoza, who championed freedom of speech and reason in the face of restriction. Spinoza's philosophy in particular had a strong influence on thinkers and the development of democratic societies. Freedom of speech, reason, and understanding were central to his work. Although he finally was excommunicated for his critique on dogmatic religious and political thought, he too struggled with how exactly he should put forth these ideas, without pushing too hard. Showing a certain caution, he only published his texts in Latin, not in the more accessible Dutch.

Today, the free world is again under tremendous pressure. Even in the US, once the beacon of democracy and free speech, people are arrested upon voicing their opinions on global issues. As Spinoza we shouldn’t be afraid to fight for our right to freedom and expression, but what is the best and most effective way? How do we connect, instead of divide? Perhaps the names of these 135 pioneering newspapers – each a window into a free world eager to emerge – hold some of the answers.

Tetsumi Kudo

In the patriarchal world, the penis is a symbol of contest – a man’s pride and supposed power over others. But it is also his most delicate part, capable of humiliating him if not respected. It stands as both an emblem of patriarchal force and of fragility.

In Untitled (1974) by Japanese avant-garde artist Tetsumi Kudo, human penises transform into slug-like creatures, their soft bodies encased in shells. Fluorescent colors glow against the organic decay of lily of the valley (a symbol of rebirth), while a drinking cup hints at a fragile, self-sustaining world. It’s up to the viewer to decide how to feel about this entanglement. Spinoza might see it as a perfectly logical ecosystem, where penis and snail are simply two modes of the same substance – Nature/God – with neither superior. But to the patriarch, who believes man must conquer all that is mutable and soft – a snail, a flower, even a woman – it may appear grotesque in its unwelcome reflection of his own vulnerability.

Kudo often explored ecology, evolution, and technology. As early as the 1960s, he warned of pollution and began building greenhouse-like installations. He imagined a “New Ecology” in which humans, nature, and machines coexist and nourish one another – like insects and plants, or nerves and muscle cells. A vision that echoes Spinoza’s: a world where everything, animate or inanimate, springs from the same source and remains deeply interconnected.

The irony is, that man-made technology may rob us of certain forms of human dignity, just as we strip other beings of theirs. But for Kudo, it also opens up a new, fertile state – one of mutual transformation and decay, where new forms of communication can emerge. The big question deciding our future on this planet is: can we accept this entanglement and evolve within it, or will we cling to our imagined superiority, locked in a cage fight bound to get ugly?

-

Emma Talbot

Mother Earth is a personal ode to the giver of life and the origin story of us all – born from our mothers, but also born from Mother Earth. In her own way – drawing on family stories as well as classical myths, poems by T.S. Eliot, and the work of feminist philosophers like Luce Irigaray and Hélène Cixous – Emma Talbot creates a poetic tale that can be understood on a rational level, but perhaps even more deeply on an emotional one.

The subconscious plays a central role in Talbot’s work – not only as a valuable library of personal impressions to be expressed, but also as a medium by which the viewer receives her message. In this, she takes a different stance than the philosophers of the Enlightenment, and particularly their great inspiration: Spinoza. While Spinoza did acknowledge the power of the subconscious and how it drives many of our actions, he believed that the highest achievement of an enlightened person was to temper these forces – to observe them without acting on them, and to use reason to achieve freedom from the torment of our unpredictable subconscious passions.

Although Talbot shares Spinoza’s understanding that we are shaped by both internal and external forces, she seems to take a more permissive approach toward our passions. In Mother Earth, we witness how we – and our desires – are formed by nature, upbringing, and social constructs. Yet the work does not reject or judge these influences. Instead, it simply seems to say: this is how it is, this is how we are – in all our beauty and all our terror.

(This animation was commissioned by the Centraal Museum for the exhibition Good Mom/Bad Mom).

Thomas Hirschhorn

Both Spinoza and Thomas Hirschhorn believe that contemplation alone is not enough. For artists and philosophers – and anyone else engaged in critical thought – active engagement with the world is essential. Hirschhorn, whose work frequently engages with philosophical ideas, brings his art into public space to provoke unexpected encounters. In Amsterdam, he created the Spinoza Monument and later the Bijlmer Spinoza-Festival.

Where Do I Stand? What Do I Want? is a vibrant, confrontational collection of essays weaving together Hirschhorn’s lived experience, radical visual imagery, and philosophical influences, among them Spinoza, Gramsci, and Deleuze. Of these thinkers, Hirschhorn writes: “They give force to think, they give force to be active.” The connecting thread is courage: to speak out, and to act.

Hirschhorn calls himself a fan of Spinoza, in the most devoted, fandom sense of the word. In 2012, he even customized a car in tribute to Spinoza, just as one might do for a beloved football club. He says he loves Spinoza’s Ethics for its strength, its universality, and above all, for inventing a ‘form’. That, according to Hirschhorn, is what every philosopher and artist must do: create a form. Even if the content of a work is not fully understood, its form can still be appreciated – and perhaps most importantly, become a vessel for action.

-

Simon Fujiwara

In A Whole New Who? by British artist Simon Fujiwara, we see a teddy bear that has been quite literally reassembled. He reads books with titles like Accept Yourself, Embrace Your Sadness, Always be Happy, and A Whole New You. Embedded in these titles is the promise of a ‘better’ version of yourself – as long as you adopt the right mindset, apply the right techniques, and choose the right emotions. The art work touches upon a very modern striving, or even struggle, towards a kind of personal enlightenment.

Out of all these titles, Spinoza might have chosen Accept Yourself. For him, enlightenment does not come from chasing an ideal or becoming a new version of yourself – it comes from accepting what is. Forces such as emotions and opinions, according to Spinoza, are not to be perfected or mastered, but to be understood. Piling up on self-help books or following a new guru every day only makes us more captive to these external forces.

We should conceive of ourselves as expressions of one unified Nature (or God), rather than as independent egos or souls. Freedom, for Spinoza, lies in observing our place in the world, recognizing all the forces and understanding how they affect us – not in acting on them impulsively. To understand oneself, then, is not an egoistic pursuit. Quite the opposite: it is the path to understanding one’s place within the greater whole.

Falke Pisano

“Knowledge is continually created and re-created as people reflect and act on the world,” writes artist Falke Pisano. Knowledge, she believes, requires subjects who both gain and produce it – subjects who are confronted with the world. This concept of wisdom closely mirrors that of Spinoza, who rejected dogmatism and rigid views. Instead, he argued that knowledge is a dynamic process, continuously sharpened by experience and exchange.

Even mathematics – a science often linked to precision – is not a rigid form of knowledge. It is a way to understand the world, teaching us abstract thinking. By training our mathematical thinking, we can improve our reasoning in other areas of life, and vice versa. It is shaped by our surroundings, knowledge, and thoughts. Or, as Falke writes in The Value of Mathematics: Negotiations in Exchange: “Different worldviews and the everyday experiences of individuals account for diverse strategies of mathematical reasoning, based in different ways to solve arithmetic dilemmas, conflicts, and tension.”

Perhaps logically, Falke’s artistic work arises from a similar process: thinking, reflecting, abstracting. Her work explores how, where, and through what processes an art object is realized and imbued with meaning. Many of her projects unfold in a kind of loop or multi-year sequence, from which a theme emerges. Falke’s work not only echoes Spinoza’s ideas about knowledge, but the interconnectedness of her artistic bodies also reflects his belief in the fundamental interconnectedness of all bodies of life.

-

Eylem Aladogan

The work of Eylem Aladogan often explores themes of strength and power – particularly the generation of willpower. Aladogan suggests that resistance, rather than being avoided, can be embraced and even employed to awaken this inner force. In one of her many installations, she presents a lone beak mounted on a crossbow-like structure made of rope, wood, and stone. Though the sculpture itself remains still, it evokes a sense of forward movement; and we see the dynamics of the forces working to achieve it.

At first glance, this might seem to stand in contrast to the philosophy of Spinoza, who denied the existence of free will. Yet, upon closer inspection, the parallels between Aladogan’s vision and Spinoza’s thinking become more apparent than their differences. To be more precise, Spinoza rejected the notion of a will that exists independently. Instead, he believed our actions to be a result of many opposing forces. But through understanding these influences, he believed we could act with intention and purpose.

This opens the door to a broader examination of control, a concept that also interests Aladogan. How much control do we have? Is it always wise to exercise it, or is it at times wiser to relinquish control and to allow events to unfold? These are relevant questions in times of far-reaching human interference, of which the ripple-effects are unforeseeable. The works displayed here, Endless Endless and Glasshouse, seem to offer two responses: in a glasshouse we like to engineer a delicate, controlled environment, while Endless Endless hints at the incessantly changing and transforming nature of the world.

  • Visit the art center

    Our Art Center has Free Access. Don’t forget to visit the current exhibition and be aware of the upcoming ones.

    Monday

    Closed.

    Tuesday (Coffee, Art Center and Wine Shop)

    9AM - 12PM

    1PM - 5PM

    Wednesday to Saturday

    11AM – 9:30PM

    Sunday

    11AM – 5PM

    Restaurant Closed on Mondays and Tuesdays

  • We are preparing the next Exhibitions

    Upcoming

More Previous Exhibitions