CURA.

Plásmata 3 is Onassis Stegi’s immersive outdoor exhibition set in Athens’ Pedion tou Areos.
In its third instalment, the natural and artificial dissolve into one another with unexpected
ease, as the park becomes both sanctuary and stage.
Surrealistic installations and sculptures – some organic, others constructed – become
emblems of our ever-altering hybrid landscape, resulting in a saturated jungle bathing in
hyperrealism. Contrast and changeability are everywhere: intricate ancient columns double
as loungers, elsewhere, bodies are portrayed either falling down or ascending a staircase
that leads to nowhere. There is a juxtaposing peculiarity that hints at a narrative pulsating
beneath, particularly the direct-impact of the hyper-accelerated landscape on self-identity
and authenticity.
The tagline asks, “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”. Besides the Lynchian connotations that
naturally arise, my thoughts drift to the often complex readings of visual expressions –
decoding them turns into a guessing game and authenticity becomes a myth. Subverted
shapes and unpredictable renderings make us wonder: do they exist, ever have existed, or
will they ever? The premises of normality are challenged suggesting ways that the narrative
might be calibrated to better reflect one’s own path.
Projected onto a stonewall, an audiovisual installation titled Neighbours (2025) by Manousos
Manousakis, where fantastical, fluid creatures roam. One slender figure follows the other,
pointing to the dissolving boundaries between human and animal. As they wander by – each
expressive and undefined – Manousakis gracefully captures the transforming nature of
identity, always in a state of mutation.
Spotted between trees and a statue of Athena is Robert Wilson’s Kool, Snowy Owl
(Horizontal Blue) (2006). The ancient Greek owl, a mythological symbol of wisdom, is
reconfigured as a snowy owl, captured in a high-definition video that plays in an endless
loop. Wilson is known for his simplicity, and the portrait makes an interesting, albeit abstract,
embodiment of shapeshifting, the rhythms of life, and how visuals bleed into reality.
Also screening is Where is my mind? (2020), the entry of Joana Hadjithomas and Khalil
Joreige, where synchronised animated projections and sourced footage from archeological
museums coalesce. We watch ancient statues – some headless, others with distressed
torsos – as they become haunted by the words of Greek poet George Seferis:
“…They told us you’ll conquer when you abandon your life.
We abandoned our life and found ashes.
We found ashes.

What remains is to rediscover our life, now that we have nothing left.”
His words strengthen this visual mediation on the fragility of identity – in a climate dominated
by developmental data and code, it’s hard not to feel the ability to dream is increasingly
threatened. Plásmata 3 becomes a zone of awareness, one where part melancholy, part
hopefulness lingers – though it’s darker than ever, light pours in on the possibility to retreat
from the algorithm in favour of the curious, luminescent self. It still feels feasible to run freely
– unchained and detached from the normative society we’re steeped in.