

Klaus in Vorarlberg / 2026
Der Kopf ist rund, damit das Denken die Richtung wechseln kannGalerie Brugger

Seoul / 2026

Białystok / 2026

Napoli / 2026

Köln / 2026

Kraków / 2026

Porto / 2026

Stockholm / 2026








Seoul / 2026


Helsinki / 2026

@koesysaga

/ 2026

Olomouc / 2026
















Prague / 2026




Vilnius District Municipality / 2026

Słupsk / 2026

Poznań / 2026






Poznań / 2026

Brussels / 2026

Berlin / 2026















Istanbul / 2026









@pyhii

Montpellier / 2025






Brno / 2025

Lisbon / 2025

/ 2024










Shanghai / 2024

London / 2024

/ 2025

Innsbruck / 2025

Vienna / 2025











New York / 2025

@camelostrich

Busan / 2025
/photo_1_2026-05-23_19-28-57.jpg)
Berlin / 2025
/photo_1_2026-05-23_19-23-24.jpg)
Munich / 2026

Seoul / 2025-2026

Paris / 2026









Warsaw / 2026

Nurnberg / 2026

Offenbach am Main / 2026








/ 2025

Berlin / 2026

/ 2026

@xolo_cuintle




Features



Berlin / 2026





Cologne / 2026







































Saarbrücken / 2026

Berlin / 2026

Suwon / 2026

Hurup / 2026

/ 2026










@kim.myungchan

Shanghai / 2026

Paris / 2026

Brescia / 2026









Munich / 2026

Lima / 2026








Mexico City / 2026
.webp)
Cergy / Paris / 2026



New York / 2026

Düsseldorf / 2026

Kraków / 2025

@emma.beatrez

Brussels / 2025-2026

/ 2024








Tartu / 2024

Wroclaw / 2024

Stockholm / 2024-2025

Geneva / 2024

Paris / 2025

Santiago / 2025

Warsaw / 2025






Milan / 2025

@nadaecc

Dornbirn / 2026

Prague / 2026








Seoul / 2025

Buenos Aires / 2026

Seoul / 2026









Berlin-Schöneberg / 2025

Białystok / 2025

Lima / 2026









Vienna / 2026












Antwerpen / 2026











Warsaw / 2026

Madrid / 2026

Istanbul / 2026

















Berlin / 2026




















Lladó / 2026

Santiago / 2026






Paris / 2026








Tisbury / 2026










Berlin / 2026

Málaga / 2026

@yukino_yamanaka

Klaus in Vorarlberg / 2026

Genk / 2026

Turin / 2026

Vienna / 2026

Oslo / 2026

Warsaw / 2026









Düsseldorf / 2026













Berlin / 2025

Shanghai / 2025










/ 2023

@s_gatzkan

Vilnius / 2024

Prague / 2024














Jung-gu, Seoul / 2025

Ljubljana / 2025





Bratislava / 2025










/ 2025

Bratislava / 2025

Kraków / 2025
/photo_1_2026-05-23_19-26-42.jpg)
Milan / 2025








Graz / 2026

@arghavan_khosravi

London / 2026

Vorarlberg / 2026

Sardinia / 2026

/ 2025
.webp)
Seoul / 2025

Düsseldorf / 2026
Submit Exhibition
Prague / 2026

Tokyo / 2026

@dew_needs_you

Miami / 2026

Berlin / 2026

Norwich / 2026

Vilnius / 2026

Brno / 2026

Avigliana / 2026

Shanghai / 2026













Copenhagen / 2026

Ciudad de México / 2026

Angers / 2026









@filet_minion_thong

Kraków / 2026






Paris / 2026

Poznań / 2026

Bucharest / 2026

Tokyo / 2026

New York City (NY) / 2025

Göteborg / 2025










/ 2024

Lisboa / 2023








Budapest / 2024

@pax_aliena
/photo_1_2026-05-24_00-42-04.jpg)
Milan / 2025





Barcelona / 2024-2025







Milan / 2025

Berlin / 2025

Århus / 2025










Paris / 2025

Berlin / 2025
/photo_1_2026-05-23_19-20-38.jpg)
Seoul / 2026

Leipzig / 2026

Dornbirn / 2026

@que.fresca

Paris / 2026







Paris / 2025

Seoul / 2025

Sherbrooke / 2026

Warsaw / 2026

Riga / 2026

Brussels / 2026

Berlin / 2026









Munich / 2026









@isabellealbuquerque

Münster / 2026









/ 2026









Warsaw / 2026

Seoul / 2026

Brussels / 2026

Seoul / 2026

Paris / 2026











Seoul / 2026

London / 2026

.webp)
.webp)
.webp)
.webp)
.webp)
.webp)
.webp)
.webp)
Vienna / 2026

@aio0o0o0

Munich / 2026

Ljubljana / 2026














Warsaw / 2024-2025

London / 2025
















Brescia / 2025-2026

/ 2024
/photo_1_2026-05-24_00-50-58.jpg)
/ 2023
/photo_1_2026-05-24_00-47-49.jpg)
Berlin / 2023






London / 2024
/photo_1_2026-05-24_00-41-28.jpg)
Berlin / 2025

#DorisSalcedo

Arnsberg / 2025

Hamburg / 2025

Prague / 2025

Seoul / 2026
/photo_1_2026-05-23_19-24-35.jpg)
London / 2025
 (GROUP SHOW).webp)
Berlin / 2026














Dortmund / 2026

Kraków / 2026









Lisbon / 2026














New York City / 2026

@ppuri_

Madrid / 2025
Société Interludio / Ingeborg Tysse

I usually disdain texts beginning with a definition, but Old Snag definitely demands one. Personally, I could imagine a “hey you!” just preceding it — the kind of expression muttered at the edge of a counter, directed toward some drunk man: a body gone crooked, inexplicably still standing. As it turns out, the term is not typically used for human beings. And yet, if it were, my intuition would not feel entirely misapplied. A snag, in forestry, is a standing dead tree: no longer alive in the biological sense but not yet absorbed back into the ground. A walking dead, in other words! No wonder every existing image of a haunted house includes somewhere in the background a lightning-struck trunk, twisted like a witch’s finger. Wait, hear this before you roll your eyes in disapproval of my fixation with the topic. What is important, and increasingly documented in ecological research, is that these dead standing trees are far from inert remnants. They function as active ecosystems, hosting nesting cavities for birds, shelter for insects, bats, microbial life, fungi, lichens, mosses, and a dense array of organisms that depend precisely on decomposition for vitality.
In Ingeborg Tysse’s exhibition, an old snag appears within an analogous suspended ontology. Sourced from the area surrounding the gallery, the trunk is ceremonially positioned upright. With a pair of owl-looking wings that unfurl at its sides, it assumes a totemic presence. The effect is rather absurd and deliberately unsettling: the trunk is grounded, heavy with its own past, while the wings animate something expected to be devoid of life. The owl too carries a symbolic history, appearing across multiple folk traditions as a creature associated with death omens, obscure knowledge and the threshold between worlds. Other three monumental cherry trunks lie horizontally across the floor, dressed with Elizabethan and clerical collars, as well as belts. The arthritic dark-brown bark and the fleshy fungi bulging from it reveal that, when sourced, these trunks had already been reclaimed by the forest floor. Ecologically, they belong to another category altogether: deadwood, or downed logs. Typically, as moisture infiltrates deadwood from the soil below, moss spreads across its bark and fungi proliferate, while larvae and microbial colonies gradually convert wood into nutrient-rich organic matter, contributing to the slow release of carbon into the soil. A fundamental regenerative process indeed, one that makes the log uncomfortably close to a putrefying corpse. What disgusts us about the cadaver, writes Julia Kristeva in Powers of Horror, is its collapsing of categories we obsess on keeping separate: life and death, self and non-self, body and waste. The corpse is that which exceeds purity and containment — the most disturbing of residues in which life persists as something no longer recognisable as “self.” Think about how we see our dead ones for the last time. It is usually at the funeral parlour: dressed, composed, cosmetically restored, the smell temporarily subdued, the body carefully adjusted into a final image of coherence before the coffin is sealed, and decomposition is removed from sight. What follows — the slow, irreversible transformation of the body into other forms of matter — is systematically withdrawn from the sphere of the living imagination. It is precisely within this logic that the Elizabethan ruffs and belts placed on her trunks resonate. Historically, ruffs functioned as devices of posture and class distinction, producing an image of elegance and aristocratic composure — while also, more implicitly, concealing the softening of the neck and the visible signs of bodily ageing in a pre-Botox era. Belts, too, operate through a similar logic of containment, framing another notoriously soft part of the body. In Tysse’s installation, these anthropic accessories, clumsily off-scale, resemble attempts to stabilise matter in the process of transformation, entering a rather intimate sphere of attachment, where decoration and maintenance become ways of staying with what is lost. The result is both tender and grotesque. As for the bird feathers in the standing trunk, they animate the logs, granting them personality. This is also evident in the pair of small bronze root-like sculptures, each adorned with a collar hat that gives them a lively appearance, as if caught dancing. Or are all these ruffs rather disclosing a whole bunch of beheaded creatures? The doubt can’t but hover in unresolved suspension…
And of course, no parade of the dead would be complete without a ghost. A haunting cylindrical metallic grid rises in the space, shimmering with silver leaves that instil a spectral presence, bearing witness to those forms of disappearance that can no longer be kept at a distance, and allowing for extended grief. Tysse addresses the deeply human desire to preserve and immortalise, while simultaneously placing the death of ecological systems directly in front of us. In doing so, she also quietly invites to ponder on what is deemed worthy of preservation, and what is allowed to disappear unnoticed. The snag, after all, is not simply a lesser-known poetic symbol of mortality, but an increasingly vulnerable element within managed forests, where deadwood is often removed in the name of productivity. Together with this piece, two digital jacquard weavings introduce a synthetic dimension to the whole. Among dense branching tangles disclosing subterranean rib cages or ears popping out of wooden pockets, archaic trippy visions unfold. It’s the effect of the hallucinatory realisation that organic life has always communicated through hidden infrastructures exceeding individual bodies… and that the forest is very much alive (and dying) inside and outside us.
— Caterina Avataneo
Ingeborg Tysse (1992, Stavanger, Norway) lives and works in Oslo. She works across sculpture, installation, weaving, video, and costume, engaging with personal narratives, contemporary and historical myths, craft traditions and environmentalism. Central to her practice is an exploration of prosthetics as extensions of body, space, and time — material encounters between the organic and synthetic, the old and the new, the lost and the re-imagined. Within her work, prosthetics become metaphors for mental, physical, and metaphysical adaptation, addressing how bodies and environments adjust to loss, change, and synthetic intervention. Tysse holds an MFA from Bergen Art Academy from 2024 and a BFA from Oslo National Academy of the Arts, Textile Department, and from Iceland University of the Arts.
Recent solo exhibitions include: Neckwreath, Kiosken Studio, Bergen, Norway (2025); Wild Watch, Norwegian Sculptors Society, Oslo, Norway (2025); Chimed, Ditroit Dream, Milan, Italy (2025), Phantom Gut, L21 Gallery, Palma de Mallorca, Spain (2024); SKRØMT, Hordaland Kunstsenter, Bergen, Norway (2023). Her work has been exhibited in group exhibitions such as Hesten og Plysen, Gamle Innvik Ullvarefabrikk, Stryn, Norway (2025); fantom\kopi\klem\print, She Will Art Space, Oslo, Norway (2025); This is personal, Bergen Kunsthall, Norway (2024); I arrived, I laid an egg, I left, L21 Gallery, Palma de Mallorca, Spain (2024); BACC Bangkok Art and Culture Centre, Thailand (2023); Shared Imaginations, KUNO Biennial, Vilnius, Lithuania (2023); Aeaea, Podium, Oslo, Norway (2023).
















Artists in this exhibition
More at Société Interludio
More in Turin
Related topics