From the North by Hill…

From the north mountain,
From the south of the lake,
From the west of the road
From the east of the river.

With this title of the novel by László Krásznahorkai, we could define not only the position, but also the situation in which Žofia Dubová finds herself when painting her canvases and glasses. It remains central in its country. The center looking and waiting. What path does she have to take, how much does she have to do to be alone at the mercy of her thoughts, her gestures, her painted layers? How many fictional blinds does she have to run between her gaze and the outside world to create records to literally haptically capture its light, shadows, colors, textures and lines? Can we decipher these records realistically, or do we see them through our experience? As observers of these installations, we are no longer the center. We are roughly looking for a front view and reaffirm that there is no front view. We move our eyes from top to bottom, left and right, we move forward and backward. We move carefully. We sense a respectful dimension overhead. We cannot rest in this country. She is risky with her painting, spatial and glass experiments. We compose a mosaic, we try to rely on fragments of specific vertices (if they exist), we would like to name the whole. We are looking for fragments in pieces of torn canvas, consistently defined by stitching, folding, creasing. Is this painted canvas a soft base for the glass surface holding it in a vertical position, or is the painted glass surface tensing the canvas like a frame with its weight and allowing it to be readable and another horizon?

The same questions?

Such questions are the landscapes of Žofia Dubová.

Countries - I wanted to avoid this designation, but I couldn't.

From the north solitude,
Respect from the south,
From the west story,
Light from the east,
And restless noise all around.

Palo Macho
Bratislava, February 17, 2021