A sudden downpour swept in. It washed a giant concrete plant up the hill, from where it rolled all the way down here, among the peeling walls. Here it is safe and resting quietly. It survived the hot summer on streets scorched by the sun with minimal moisture. All that remains are its withered petals, which it must let fall to the ground like empty vessels, homeless and unable to take root again. Pushed all the way here, they rest on a layer of dust, decompose, and come back to life. 

The petals enter the gallery bearing a message of absence and the need for fulfillment. They tell us the story of the city’s green patches that refuse to conform. They become a reflection of dissent against a world that no longer turns toward the sun. Beneath the concrete carpet, their roots intertwine tightly, building a quiet strength that blossoms on the surface. They whisper softly that where one life ends, another begins:

“Water seeps into every crevice of mine, until I stand here on the concrete sidewalk completely soaked. The water will soon evaporate, and with it, I too will vanish. The city upon which our Earth leans so heavily. Our climate crisis is blowing against the city’s borders. It’s pounding on its gates. But it entered long ago. It poured in and drowned those who sat peacefully on the sidewalk—those who were low to the ground. It works here with us every day.” 

The Knedlík Collective—from dinners and walks to workshops, slow exhibitions, precious moments, and friendship. Our collective work is united by an interest in working with our hands, in listening, and in treating one another, the materials, and the environment from which they come with tenderness.