The Weight of Silence. Sculpture as Breath and Delay

Image © Atticus Gallery

One enters Suspended Intuition, Larisa Razumeichenko’s recent solo exhibition at Atticus Gallery in Bath, not through spectacle but through a slow unfolding of restraint. The gallery, dimly lit and meticulously composed, does not assert itself. Rather, it listens. The works do not stand out—they hold space. They emerge not as declarations but as quiet provocations, suspended within a field of perceptual hesitation. This is an exhibition built not upon objecthood but upon atmosphere; not upon the clarity of mass, but upon the ambiguity of breath.

Three principal works anchor the installation, arranged in a triangulated rhythm that draws the viewer into a choreography of shifting perspectives. Each piece occupies space with measured clarity, yet each resists finality. These are not sculptural statements—they are sculptural conditions. Razumeichenko does not offer resolution; she holds it in tension.

The first work encountered is a granite column, intersected by a partially embedded arc of chromed steel and a graphite-toned diagonal axis. At first, the form appears diagrammatic, almost elemental. But its composure conceals an immense internal strain. The ring—fractured and incomplete—suggests containment interrupted, or never fully realised. Rather than encircle, the arc bisects, drawing the mass of stone into an unresolved gravitational pull. Razumeichenko has described the gesture as “delayed”—a holding of form just before becoming. This sense of suspended intent, of breath caught within material, defines the work’s internal architecture. The contrast between polished steel and matte mineral intensifies this tension. This is sculpture not as form, but as spatial paradox.

The central work deepens this vocabulary. A pale slab—marble or a marble-cast substitute—rises vertically, interrupted by a single folded plane of blackened metal that arcs inward like a collapsing shadow. Beneath the slab, a lacquered cylindrical element sits slightly askew, placed with such quiet intentionality that it appears almost accidental. Yet its presence is essential. It destabilises the vertical axis, undermining any impression of symmetry or resolve. The dialogue between gloss and opacity, weight and void, invites a slower kind of looking—one that accommodates contradiction. One might recall Nigel Hall’s folded works, but Razumeichenko’s approach is less architectural and more psychological. The fold is not a structural flourish but an ontological event. It withdraws, holds, hesitates. This sculpture is a syntax of material and light—its grammar suspended mid-sentence.

To the right, the only work in the exhibition to include living matter presents itself with a kind of guarded humility. A spiralled steel framework rises—cage-like but not oppressive—encasing a tower of stacked birch discs. From its centre, a small green frond emerges, tentative and alive. The gesture is almost imperceptible, but its effect is profound. It transforms the sculpture’s entire condition. This is no longer a structure; it is a sanctuary. The spiral delays visual access, inviting the viewer to circle, to adapt. Containment here is not about power, but about care. The living plant refuses metaphor. It grows quietly, insistently, without asking to be seen. Razumeichenko does not illustrate time—she enacts it.

Across all three works, the viewer is met by a consistent refusal to conclude. These are not complete forms; they are open fields of encounter. Each piece enacts what could be called an ethics of incompletion—where nothing is explained, and everything is held. Razumeichenko’s sculptures do not impose meaning; they ask us to return to the act of looking. In their silence, they demand our attention.

Material, in this context, is never neutral. Birch is stained and waxed, but the knots and rings remain visible—evidence of time dwelling in the grain. Steel is left to oxidise, its surface becoming an archive of atmosphere. Aluminium is used not to gleam, but to echo back the light of the room. Nothing is embellished; everything is composed. These materials are not employed for effect, but for their capacity to register process—what the artist calls “the pressure of breath on space”.

What is most striking, however, is how little these works perform. They do not assert themselves theatrically. They do not dramatise. They wait. And in that waiting, they allow for something rare: an atmosphere of concentrated quiet. Razumeichenko’s sculptures are not constructions; they are calibrations. Each line, each join, each void is considered. Nothing is decorative. Nothing is accidental.

The title Suspended Intuition could well stand in for the artist’s broader methodology. Intuition here is not impulsive. It is durational. It unfolds slowly—through touch, through pause, through refusal. What is suspended is not only gesture, but conclusion. The works do not offer interpretation. They offer presence.

Supported by Eastside Projects, Birmingham, and sensitively installed in the curved interior of Atticus Gallery, the exhibition stands as a rare example of sculptural practice grounded in patience, precision, and ethical quietude. In a cultural climate increasingly shaped by speed and statement, Razumeichenko’s work reminds us of something more essential: the responsibility of attention. The beauty of restraint. The poetics of incompletion.

These sculptures do not seek to be understood. They ask only to be stayed with. And in that staying, they transform space—not by occupying it, but by making its silence visible.

Atticus Gallery, 11a Queen Street, BA1 1HE, Bath, United Kingdom

17 January – 22 February 2023

 Tom Denman, residing in London, is a distinguished freelance art critic whose perceptive articles have featured in eminent publications such as Art Journal, ART PAPERS, ArtReview, Art Monthly, Burlington Contemporary, e-flux, Flash Art, Ocula, and Studio International. He earned his PhD in Italian Studies from the University of Reading, focusing his research on Caravaggio and the noble-intellectual milieu of seventeenth-century Naples. Presently, his critiques primarily explore the subtleties and emerging trends within contemporary art.