written by curator and artist Sylvia Javén
“Sedan reste jag mig”, is a Swedish word play and is understood as “Then I rose up”. The word reste (eng.: to rise) also means travelled. I invited the artists by asking: What does it mean to rise up? To move your body? To travel? Where is your home? Where are you going? The artists answers are found in the exhibition, as well as in the direct response of the artists physical presence in the exhibition. Traveling from different countries to take an active part in the exhibition
can be understood as a performative act.
The invitation goes out to the viewer to enter the space and experience the exhibition through the movement of their own body and mind. Our aim as artists has been to show work which will create meeting points with the art as well as the artists. The artists will give workshops inspired by their works, extending the original invitation to reflect on the idea of rising/travel via their chosen materials.
The artistic expressions of the participating artists are very different from each other, but all share a sensitivity to the world around them. While I have known them separately for years, they have never met each other prior to the project. I was very curious to find out the dynamics of bringing their artistic processes together in one exhibition. To exhibit the idea of movement both in the literal sense of Carinas choreographed dance performance of rising and falling, in the symbolic sense of the objects by Cora and me and the autobigrafical travel diary of Ustinas pieces, a narrative is already forming. The dancers being a living artwork, present only at certain times, create a rhythm in the room.
Is the opposite of rising always falling, or is there stillness and peace to be found? This is Ustinas process of working. While being a constant traveler across the world, the work she brings with her makes her sit still for hours, concentrated on the detailed embroidery. Until she packs it up again in her suitcase and continues her journey. These are questions about home and roots, rising and falling and finding ones place in the middle of the journey, maybe even inside oneself, as Coras installation suggests. Through it all we continue to live with the collected memories and emotions of the places we have been, the things we have seen. I hand the exhibition over to the visitor with the title of my own work, 'Every place I ever see will continue a life of its own in my mind'.

Travellers—A travel journal
written by Lilli Martiny

In our current fragile times, the question of belonging arises. What makes a home a home? What do we carry with us and in us? If we leave a space to enter a new one, can we create a new reality for ourselves?
In this exhibition “Sedan reste jag mig”, Cora Wöllenstein’s work series called “The Palace inside of me”, explores the inner psychological landscapes and its responsibility to the exterior world.
The artist herself has moved homes several times in her lifetime, forcing her to reflect on what objects carry memories and meaning. What do we take with us to create a sense of home? How do we create a sense of connection to our surroundings? What effect do objects have on our psychological well-being. To answer these questions: Cora Wöllenstein exhibits hand-poured wax hybrid-beings, constructed of a human foot and a snail house, moving like nomads around a golden S-shape curtain hanging from the ceiling.
A nomad is someone who travels with no specific goal or place in mind, but always carrying their "home" with them. Whatever is being carried around in the said home is an open invitation to the spectator. The fabric mimicks an entrance into another world. these Hybrid snails are moving in and out of the curves of the curtain. Depending on how the visitor is moving along the drapery, he/she/them is either within the curve or outside of it, just like the backside of the stage in Dr. Parnassus (short explanation: spectators see a stage, but if one goes behind the stage, at the right time, they enter a hidden, inside world). The front is the exhibiting stage for the 'outside', e.g. what we decide to show the world. It is like putting on a skin tailored explicitly for how we want to be perceived. Whereas we enter the 'inside', we have the rawness of the self, like a snail without its house leaving her vulnerable, but perhaps a little closer to an authentic self? Or does the self emerge through both realities? Because the outside reality is created from the inside reality. This creates the responsibility to check our housekeeping. The exhibition is shining light on this process and gives the chance to carry outward the rawness of ones inside world. We are learning to accept the pieces that make us human. The golden draped fabric creates a flow, no strict pathway, no sharp ends. Simply an open invitation to explore. Simply follow the flow of the snail-feet because "Not all who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost." – J.R.R Tolkien.
Another fabric work, hangs like a flag, high above our heads. On it is an embroidered image of a body lying down. Raindrops, or perhaps tears, are dripping onto its skin. As the drips touch the skin, the body dissolves into the ground like roots, becoming one with nature. Building a connection to ones surroundings is like an act of surrender rather than conquer. 

"Her Majesty left the Room", (200 x 140 cm, oil on canvas) a paintings in the show, perhaps a portrait of the queen of snails. Facing us backwards, she is sitting on the edge of a checkerboard. As if she were a figurine in Alice in Wonderland. Her body, semi-transparent, fading into perhaps another world is looking into a rather dark landscape. A bush of roses on the right of her is still blooming, though their hue seems to wither. On the left side of her majesty is a red curtain, similar to the curtain in the exhibition, creating a wall. The spectator can only guess what is behind it? what is it hiding? Is there a path? But where does it lead to? Two hands playing with a golden marble, dancing mischievously around her majesty. They seem like they are not to be trusted. Or do they perhaps know something that we don't see? Only questions. But one this is for sure, we are witnessing a transition, a movement from one reality to another.
In her work, Cora Wöllenstein creates scenes and moments of reflections. Her work tells a story that is autobiographical but speaks  of a collective human condition. It is meant to create connections.