Rūta Matulevičiūtė/Tie2.lt

The artist Kopa (Sinaima Kontautė) graduated in 2022 with a Bachelor’s degree in Textile Art and Design from the Vilnius Academy of Arts, where she presented her work in the solo graduation exhibition “BŪTIES (NE)DARNA”. In 2024 she presented a solo exhibition “I Don’t Know. I Don’t Understand. I Have No Idea.” Kopa participated in group exhibitions such as “Zoetrope II” at the VDA Gallery “Akademija” in 2024, “Zoetrope” at the VDA Telšiai Gallery in 2023, VDA Textile Gallery “Artifex”, Vilnius, in 2021, in the exhibition “NE / PANAŠŪS. RYTAI VAKARUOSE.”, and at the 9th Lithuanian Biennial of Textile Art RIBA #30 at the LDS Gallery “Arka” in Vilnius in 2020.

The theme of liminality has dominated your work for a long time. How is this idea important to you personally?
“Liminal” translates from Latin as a threshold. It is a point of transition, a change from the old to the new, from one thing to another. Everything is always changing—it’s a continuous, unbroken circle of time, space, and life. In my own life, I have a strong sense of this constant change, of the intersection between opposites, which is why it’s important in my work. This theme of the liminal becomes an expression of my inner experiences.

What is the meaning behind the title of your exhibition I Don’t Know. I Don’t Understand. I Have No Idea.?
The title is an open and honest statement of how I feel and, most importantly, how I felt while preparing for this exhibition. The phrase was born when I applied glue to a plate of plexiglass, out of curiosity, to see what it would look like. As it dried, I saw beautiful shadows falling on the wall as the light passed through. I thought about what else could be done—carve it out? A pattern, a symbol, a word…? Just then, my sister came into the room, and I asked her, “What phrase or word do you think would be appropriate to carve here?” She simply replied, “I have no idea.” I realized that this was going to be one of those times when I didn’t know what to do, how to do it, how to create it. So, I decided to look at the situation from the side: I would do it and create something about the very uncertainty and confusion. That’s how the concept of the exhibition and the ideas for the following works came about—from my own ignorance, misunderstanding, and lack of ideas.

In your solo exhibition at Gallery T.2, you’re showcasing both older works from your studies and more recent pieces. Have you noticed a change in your work over time?
Yes, I have. The materials I use have changed over time, and I have experimented with new media and creative techniques. The concept of my work has also changed, as have the ideas I want to express and implement. It’s interesting to notice that certain creative traits that emerged a long time ago are still strongly present now. For example, the desire to create and experiment with the simplest household materials—glue, wire, fishing reel, glass, nails—and found objects like bones, brick fragments, wood pieces, old photographs. The final pieces are usually still in a testing and experimental stage, and there are often several of them—I rarely make only one individual work.

You present this exhibition as a seamless installation, linking the individual works with string and supplementing this “mind map” with writings on the walls. How do you envision the viewer’s journey through this exhibition?
The works on show are very different; they come in a variety of media and formats, but together they form a single exhibition. Each of them “speaks” to the theme of “I don’t know/I don’t understand/I can’t imagine” in its own way. The installation’s aim is to show these connections—that nothing is separate; in everything, everything is one. The notes reflect thoughts that come from those (liminal) states. There’s no beginning and no end to the exhibition. The viewer enters the gallery and finds themselves in a tangle of works and thoughts, and it’s up to the viewer to decide where to go next.

What feeling or message do you hope the viewer takes from the exhibition?
Personally, I’m most impressed by exhibitions that give me motivation and inspiration, which I use when I create my own work. So, what I’d most like to give the audience with my exhibition are thoughts and emotions they can use in their own lives or work. It would be great to know that I can inspire others with my creations.

You often use dimmed spaces and concentrated lighting, scenographically highlighting individual works. How does a darkened space enhance your work?
First of all, there’s the contrast between light and dark, between what we see and don’t see, the shadows that appear at the intersection. This is one of the main themes I explore. The dark space not only enhances the effect of the work but also reflects the theme of liminality: it exists and doesn’t exist, it’s visible and it isn’t; turn off the light, and there’s nothing; illuminate everything, and you see nothing.

Where does your work begin? Can you give insight into your creative process, from idea to presentation?
Ideas come in many different ways, but most often they’re born from fragments of life I’ve seen or heard: conversations with people, other artists’ exhibitions, or even listening to crows cawing in the trees. Then I think about how to express those ideas using the materials and media available. The collected ideas, together with objects from my surroundings, create sketches—there are many of them, they replace each other or merge into a new one. Some of them become the final works. Then it’s just a matter of displaying them and presenting them to the public.

How should your work be viewed? Where should the audience start?
There’s no exact way to view the works. In this exhibition, they’re brought together as a single installation, but this doesn’t mean they have to be seen as one big piece or separately, and there’s no sequential order. I would wish for the viewer not to be afraid to sit in front of the works that interest them, to let themselves experience them freely, and to take those experiences with them.

Do you see a liminal, transitional state reflected in the world? Is it unique to contemporary life, or is it constant?
I see it, and I think it’s intensified now. Take, for example, the recent quarantine. Ordinary life changed dramatically; the spread of the virus marked a turning point into a very different everyday life. But change is constant, as the old disappears and turns into something new, which often causes discomfort. The whole world is changing, on a universal scale and within every human being, animals, the smallest organisms, and the whole environment around us. Life itself is essentially a transition—from point A to point B, from birth to death.

How do you envision your work in the future?
I think I’ll continue to explore this theme of liminality—I feel there are still a lot of untapped possibilities. It keeps changing over time, but the basis remains the same: oppositions and their intersections, mergers, together and apart, transition, change, was and will be, is and is not, here and now, there and then. Of course, creative currents can change at any time, but again, that would just be another liminal change, from the old to the new.