Easter is an artist run space founded by Adam Vít
and Sofie Tobiášová. It is located in Collesino Chiesa,
a mountain village in the Lunigiana region of Northern Tuscany.
Instagram : @goodmorning_easter
“unequaled roast” (clash of motifs)
Lisa Maria Wordcel, Jorinna Girschik.
5.-13.8. 2026
“unequaled roast” (clash of motifs) Lisa Maria Wordcel, Jorinna Girschik
19:20 onto a dark oak table, polished with the patina of foreign juices, falls a roasted pig. It seems to have landed directly on a flat shape which, from a certain angle, resembles a map of the world. The grain of the wood stretched from side to side, forming a calm surface for the event about to unfold. When the pig hit the table, fat splattered in every direction, spraying the faces of those seated around. They had been more or less prepared for this moment. The only problem was that there was only one knife for the entire village.
The juicy sound of pork striking the wood travelled through the valley like a hawk tracing the letter P across the sky, followed by hungry stares. No one uttered a sound, and every breath hurt with an empty stomach. Tense faces emerged in the candlelight, and questions dripped down like fat from the table. Who would reach for the knife first? Would they carve it together? Would a queue form? Were they after the harmonious union of the tender centre and the crisp crackling? Or a large portion for a single individual?
After a while, they realized that the answer would have to be left to rest. The knife remained lying untouched in the corner, and everyone dressed the wounds sustained here with pork lard.
So see you tomorrow!
Then, all 4 of them waved, before setting off to their homes.
(they often catch themselves dreaming of aristocracy. That the sediment of inheritance lends their hats an excessive, enviable stability. Every day they try to uncover the bottom of the plate.)
Text by Adam Vít and Sofie Tobiášová
Crossroads Shimmer Like Hesitant Stars
Jakub Choma
15. 11- 10.12.25
(In Czech, the phrase for ‘to spend time’ literally means ‘to digest time.’)
Every time I encounter Jakub’s work, I find myself wondering how much time he actually asks of you— how much attention you’re willing to spare in order to read it. Because it’s layered, with a capital L. Layered to the point where you begin to feel the weight of those layers, their accumulation, their resistance. And it’s not just that he thrives on assigning meaning to every particle of it—from dust to the dawn of the material—but that the atmosphere itself, the saturation of the material world, becomes the very point of departure.
[...] In Jakub’s work, these terrains are not virtual but visceral. On top of everything, the space is filled with chestnuts, probably one of the most significant symbols of this area. It’s a bit late in the season, though, so it’s again a stage of slight decay that kind of drives your choreography through the show, making a connection with the lower parts of the works, where you can see different kinds of old food materials glued to the surface or lying underneath. it’s all kinda pre-digested for you. Like with everything, the decision has already been made, while you were gone. (from pr)
Images: "Crossroads Shimmer like Hesitant Stars" exhibition views, ph Jakub Choma, courtesy the artist and the gallery;
Text by Adam Vít
Congratulations, It’s Growing!
Valentýna Janů
Marek Meduna
Jakub Pohlodek
3.8.-15.8. 2025
1#
To moon is to stage the body as a site of refusal. If the humoresque is laughter steeped in sadness, then mooning is its perfect choreography: a brief lifting of the weight of the world, trousers down, gravity winning, absurdity revealed. The mooning body is not only mocking power but mocking itself, knowing that revolt may fail, that history keeps marching on regardless of how many backsides it encounters. It is exposure as both resistance and surrender, a small theater of flesh interrupting seriousness for a fleeting moment of collective laughter. absurdity becomes a kind of epistemology: a way of knowing the world by refusing to bow to its logic, the clumsy poetics of refusal.
2#
In this landscape, everyday communication collapses into its barest form: the question how are things growing—a phrase devoid of expectation or judgment. It carries no opinion; it is a weather report, an acknowledgment that growth is something outside our control. In that simplicity lies a paradox: language as both presence and absence, speech as sediment where meaning is both buried and preserved. Like myths, such simple phrases hold a kind of collective unconscious logic, embedding cultural attitudes toward time, change, and expectation without explicit explanation.
Text by Adam Vít
Nothing in the World Is Single
Anais Horn
Eilert Asmervik
19.4.2025