The exhibition Sensitive Landscapes. Territories Seen Through the Female Gaze at Espace H2O presents a collection of paintings and an installation conceived as a poetic journey through landscape, exploring how nature reflects the inner world and the multiple layers of identity. Inspired by walks through the surroundings of Differdange and the Luxembourg countryside, memories of childhood spent by the Nemunas River in Lithuania, and travels across different parts of the world, Asta Kulikauskaitė interweaves places, impressions, and emotional memories through a subtle harmony of color and form.

We are often taught what to think about art, but rarely how to look at it. For many people, entering a museum or a gallery can feel intimidating. There is a sense that artworks require prior knowledge, historical context, or expert interpretation. As a result, visitors may move quickly from one piece to another, reading labels more than observing, searching for the “right” meaning instead of forming their own.

In the work of Susanna Inglada, drawing refuses to remain still. It expands beyond the page, cuts into space, casts shadows, and confronts the viewer with scenes of psychological and political intensity. Born in Spain and based in the Netherlands, Inglada has developed a practice in which figuration becomes a charged arena for power struggles, grotesque humor, and uneasy negotiations between bodies.
In the following conversation, Inglada reflects on her creative trajectory, her evolving relationship to scale and space, and the risks inherent in transforming drawing into an immersive, theatrical environment.

I am endlessly captivated by the work of Nina Mae Fowler, whose drawings occupy a space where beauty and tension, intimacy and spectacle, coexist with uncanny precision. Her art transforms fleeting cinematic moments, archival images, and the aura of celebrity into something profoundly human, revealing stories that linger beneath the surface. Each line, each shadow, seems to hold a suspended narrative — a frozen gesture of emotion, desire, or vulnerability — and it is a rare privilege to enter her world and witness the meticulous, passionate process that brings these images to life.

In front of Matière noire, I feel a profound love for black. Black not as absence, but as the ultimate concentration, a space of memory and vertigo. Martin Désilets’ work moves me through its silent rigor and the humility with which he embraces the vastness of art history only to dissolve it. Each state of the work is a slow breath, an invitation to slow down, to see differently, to accept that beauty can brush against disappearance. I deeply admire this patient, almost meditative approach, which transforms the saturation of images into a dense, sensitive, and infinitely poetic material. Matière noire is not merely an exhibition: it is an experience of time, of vision, and of finitude, carried with a rare precision and depth.

After nearly twenty years of curatorial practice, I found myself in a singular position: curating the exhibition of my mother, the painter Lidija Dailidėnienė. This situation—both evident and deeply unsettling—forced me to reconsider concepts I had long assumed to be stable: professional objectivity, critical distance, and the legitimacy of the curatorial gaze. Can one be a curator “like any other” when sharing with the artist an intimate history, a family memory, a common emotional landscape? And conversely, can one truly claim absolute neutrality toward any work of art?