ISSUES

There was a butterfly considering to change one day. He had had nothing to do after all the flowers had fallen. In his mind the past had explained itself very clearly.

First he had found himself inside a sticky egg, under a leaf of a beech tree. The smell took the decision for him. Out was the only way.

Out there he was a larva. First slimy skinny and wet, but under the sun and moon he got fat. He had gotten fur and spikes too, and he swagged around the beech tree with them on. What a pleasure it had been! Then a rain came and a psychedelic breeze. It made him sick and tired of that larva state. Ashamed of his puffy silhouette and tree-imitating colour, he built himself a hiding palace, out of his own saliva. Exhausted he fell asleep without fear of mockery or hungry bills.

With perfect timing, he woke up just in time to feel his body moving once again. A strong reflex was stretching what seemed to be his new branches. Soft branches with shimmering powder in between. As soon as he opened his eyes, the hiding palace broke. Out of surprised fear he peed himself and flapped the branches until the air made them hard and the powder lifted him up.

That was when he got the freedom to search for nectar in the fields. Nectar from the generous yellow flowers, nectar from the open purple and red flowers, nectar from the church bell blue flowers. There was little else other than nectar on his mind, until the little birds stopped singing for each other. The eggs were hatched and the formally free air filled up with threats of personal extinction.

The calculation of big saved him. Until now his own size was the one that had mattered, but fast he realized that he was perhaps the most irrelevant of it all. The size of the other mattered. Next to a bigger butterfly he could feel safer. Less of a brag catch. Compared to a bigger cousin he was harder to get to. More sizeable birds were the best of all, their sailing shadows making the sparrows behave like butterflies themselves, panting among the branches of thick bushes.

A lot of sun had passed when finally, again he felt for change. The color of the beech was not the same and the people had stopped jumping up and down in the water. Bills didn't scare him anymore. Perhaps that was enough.

— Anna Zacharoff

Marine life is usually covered from land and without letting the sea crea- tures speak for themselves. Anna Zacharoff's paintings tell a different story than those about simply eat or to be eaten, as if the sea was a jungle. From down below, we hear stories of abuse coming from shrimp undressed against their will and an octopus forced to live in a jar to take an active part in sports betting.

ISSUES is happy to present the first solo show with Anna Zacharoff in Stockholm, her hometown. Based in Brussels after graduating from Michael Krebber’s class at Städelschule, Anna’s work, which consists of painting, text and performance, has been solo shown at Vilma Gold in London, Neue Late Brücke in Frankfurt and at STANDARD in Oslo.