Marija Marcelionytė-Paliukė "Adopting The Future"

GÜ Gallery 4.–22.08.2025

Mon–Fri 12–18

The opening 4.08 at 18.00

Going to sleep every night is like being sure that you will wake up in the morning. That there will be a tomorrow. Sometimes I catch myself questioning it for a moment and I fall asleep – dying. For some reason, I always smile then. I still don't know why.

A few weeks ago, I was waiting in an airport check-in line. There were a lot of people with Ukrainian passports. I felt good for them. They were coming back from holidays.

The last five years have been strange. We are all learning, clarifying together. There is no clear-cut solution. For some, this is the most profitable time. Someone has finally discovered the meaning of life.

Lately, more than ever before, I am asked to tell the story of how we won our independence in 1990. And to accept congratulations that Lithuania's young people, according to the United Nations World Happiness Index 2024, were – and maybe still are – the happiest in the world!

Images from the war on a computer screen. My eyes are constantly searching for evidence that life is happening outside the war zone. I linger longer on the non-heroic shots of shelters. After all, when you are sick, the illness is much easier to feel yourself than it is for someone who is far away and cares about you. Their imagination, past experiences, and the infinity of information weave the darkest scenarios.

In the shelter, almost everyone's face is illuminated by the light of their phone screens. I'm looking for photos of people wearing glasses. They should reflect what the person is browsing on the internet at the time.

I'm told I can't be at the front. Not even to help the wounded. I should simply not interfere. To look after myself and my son.

I go to the basement. That's my studio. The windows are boarded up for warmth, not because of the war. All this time I have been measuring the feeling of being in a shelter. I know it is very false. I don't know the time of day when I'm here; the days blend together. The ceiling is much closer to the top of my head, so I always draw kneeling on the ground.

I switch on the dehumidifier. Every day, as I empty the bucket of water it has sucked out of the walls, I recall a post about how people quenched their thirst by drinking radiator fluid.

How lucky I am to have studied graphic art. I don't know how I would managed not to interfere, to take care of myself, without the edition, without the monotonous hum of etching and silk-screen presses. Through printing, I can forget. Something may or may not come out – later.

Marija Marcelionytė-Paliukė (1977) is a professor in the Department of Graphic Arts at the Vilnius Academy of Arts, a graduate of the same department (2001), and a lecturer there since 2007. Her artistic practice encompasses a broad creative field, with a significant focus on curating. She has held more than 20 solo exhibitions and participated in numerous group exhibitions in Lithuania and abroad. Her works have received awards and diplomas in competitive exhibitions and are included in the collections of the Lithuanian National Museum of Art, the Jyväskylä Art Museum (Finland) and the Lithuanian Money Museum. Her works are held in private collections in Lithuania, Estonia, Latvia, Finland, Germany, Poland, Spain, Switzerland, America, Japan, South Africa and elsewhere. In 2023, the artist was awarded the Government Prize for Culture and Art.

The exhibition is partially funded by the Vilnius Academy of Arts Art and Science Project Fund and the Nordplus KUNO program. Special thanks to the Association of Estonian Printmakers for the opportunity to host the exhibition at the GÜ gallery.

Poster design Liepa Sofija Vareikaitė