Exhibitions News

Visitors see the reverse of the cloth, the side a finished tapestry hides for good.

The works needed distance: the compositions are built for a view from eight metres.

The snow is woven in undyed wool from two flocks; the difference between them gives the volume.

The ochre from onion skin runs deeper than synthetic and lacks the yellow cast that glares under lamps.

Each tapestry is woven in wool of a single dyeing, so the colour shift rests on light rather than pigment.

The choice is not decorative: linen is the second thread in these works after wool.

The tapestries hang in the enfilade, so a facade in cloth stands beside a facade in stone through the window.

It marks glass, the one facade material that behaves with light differently from stone.

The limit is deliberate: vertical and horizontal are what both masonry and weaving are made of.

The Renaissance townhouses of Rynok Square appear as a grid of fields, windows marked by darker wool.

An hour by a loom set up in the hall itself, where visitors may try throwing a few rows.

The two-metre work stayed in the studio for two years: the artist considered the upper third unfinished.

Natural dyes dull evenly over time while synthetics fade in patches. The hall makes that visible across years.

Drawing is replaced by the structure of the cloth: the composition is born on the loom, not on paper.

The earliest tapestries hang beside last year's, showing the move from dense ornament to open fields.

Instead of a printed catalogue the gallery made a single sheet with the hanging plan.

Four works show the same crossing in different weather — and hang together.

The standard margin robbed the sheets of air, and all twenty-five frames were remade.

One work has an area where the paper buckled — and the artist left it that way.

Marina Ternova's solo show at Lavra Gallery — watercolour the artist calls a diary.