The group exhibition Zugzwang brings together five artists to confront the concept of Zugzwang, a situation in chess, where every possible move worsens ones position, mirroring the modern paradox of entrapment in the very systems we as humans have created. Through their works, the exhibition mapped this collective paralysis, exposing the invisible rules and strategies that lure us into the system.

Here, Elisabeth Molin discusses her work, whether or not she plays by the rules, and the absurdity of the game.

Can you expand on the series of work you have included in the exhibition and how you think it relates to the concept of  Zugzwang?

The works I'm showing is a series of post-apocalyptic shrines composed of display parts, organic matter and tactile materials such as eyelashes, Magic Lantern Slides and a sweet gum ball. In this series I'm thinking about how entangled we are with the metals and materials around us, and how we will share time with entities that are much older than us. The works are also a way for me to reflect on the rituals we have with the devices that mediate our experiences of the world.

What resonated with me in relation to Zugzwang is that the concept comes from the end game in chess, and that there is a sense of something impending and inevitable about it, and I find that interesting in relation to time. When I'm assembling the shrines I'm often imagining them from the perspective of a future, and I see them almost as artifacts or archeological objects that are reflecting on the now.

Zugzwang refers to a state of entrapment within the rules of a game. How do rules affect your process when working?

I have different sides to my practice. On one hand I'm drawn to concepts, rules and games, and my work often starts with an idea, and in this way speak to a tradition of artists working conceptually. On the other hand, I'm also intuitively drawn to things that I then collect and gather. When I bring these two practices together, there is an interested tension happening, where the materials start to take over and speak to one another, and they create a story and a world of their own. This process is hard to describe and know in advance, and it often surprises me.

The damned if you do, damned if you don't logic suggest an element of absurdity to the exhibition. Perhaps reality is not as black/white, but do you find any truth to this?

Yes, definitely. I'm often thinking about contingencies and interdependence within systems. I think these ecologies are often messy and meshy, and I find a lot of potential in the space of not knowing and in conundrums. When I'm assembling traces, I allow the materials to argue and sit with one another, to keep it fragmented and to create a space that feels open. In this way, I'm also critically alluding to the forces that compress life's porosity, both symbolically through dualism and through means of manufacture and material regulation.