From the perspective of the sky, perhaps the world is beautiful and whole.
From the perspective of the sky, perhaps we do not exist.

When tragedy occurs—personal, social, or global—a person finds themselves faced with a choice that has no simple name. What to bear witness to. Which knowledge to trust. Where to direct one’s attention at the moment when the familiar instruments of understanding cease to function. Confronted with what exceeds comprehension, knowing may become knowledge, or even faith. Or even faith in a miracle.

A miracle is one of the oldest categories of art. Perhaps it is its very origin. Aristotle called this thaumazein (from the Ancient Greek thauma—”miracle” or “wonder”)—a state of wonder, a pause before that which does not fit within the existing order of things. When reality frightens us, this mechanism is activated with particular force. Horror does not extinguish faith in change—it kindles it. Where the human has exhausted itself, another kind of knowledge begins. It reaches toward an absolute support, inhuman in its scale. Stars fall because we need them. The sky looks back at us because we have learned to look upward.

In religious traditions, a miracle possesses the structure of testimony. It is not enough for it to occur—someone must have witnessed it and told its story. Hence relics: objects that were present at the moment of the miracle become its carriers themselves. To touch a relic is to touch that which happened.

The exhibition From the Perspective of the Sky brings together three projects by Galina Agafonova from different years, revealing a single statement unfolding through time about miracles in waking life. The artist creates witnessing objects, in which the miraculous becomes visible and tangible.

Meteorites, fallen stars—the signs of wishes fulfilled—objects that were present at the moment of their fulfillment. Their dotted trajectory draws us into the depths of a space where everything exists according to its own miraculous logic: birds made of sky, meteorites carrying within themselves the full weight of longing, mirrors opening into a reality that is already present beneath our feet. Every object is at once a witness and an agent. A relic and a question. What if it comes true?