Ferma: Revealing Identity Through The Things We Collect
Nestled deep along the border between Lithuania and Belarus lies a farm unlike any other. Surrounded by tall stork nests and eerie mythological statues—dragons spitting water or a goddess wrestling a serpent—is a Lynchian place weighed down by a traumatic political history, yet alive with a strange, restless creativity. Gabija Grušaitė’s father, renowned artist Marius Grušas, bought the farm in the late 80s and gradually turned it into his home and studio. I’d never been to Lithuania, and didn’t know what to expect, but as someone who is obsessed with strange fairy tales, I was immediately drawn in.
Ferma, Grušaitė’s new environmental installation, opens to the public on this farm. Curated by Francesco Urbano Ragazzi, and created by Grušaitė—primarily known as a writer—the exhibition introduces us to an evolving form of artistic expression; featuring a new two-channel video installation and a series of site-specific drawings.
The diptych plays in the main room of the house, which is filled with countless objects. Stacks of books, teddy bears, creepy sculptures, planks of wood, vivid paintings – everything blanketed in dust. It reminded me of my own childhood: my parents, like Grušaitė’s, are artists (musicians, in my case), but unlike hers, mine are embarrassed of mess. For them, mess was something to hide; for Grušaitė’s father, the chaos was embraced and became part of the creative process.
Maybe that’s why it felt so inspiring to me. It reminded me of a quote by Audre Lorde: the personal is political. It made me think, too, of Marcel Proust—Grušaitė’s favourite writer—who wrote that memory often hides not in life's great moments, but in the smallest sensory details, like the texture of a wall, the smell of a room, or the taste of a particular food. The objects we collect—whether through necessity or nostalgia—eventually forms a kind of portrait. They become extensions of our psyche, physical traces of how we think, remember, and survive. I couldn’t help but imagine being trapped in that room full of objects – how layered everything is, both haunting and inviting. The way objects are arranged (or disarranged) have a way of stirring up feelings – grounding or unsettling us. Ferma gives form to that feeling.
It also raises the question: is it hoarding or archiving? In Ferma, the line between the two becomes blurred. The instinct to hold onto things feels like a lingering response to times of scarcity and confiscation under Soviet rule. Back then, keeping things wasn’t just about sentiment – it was a way to survive. In that sense, the room’s accumulation is historical. It’s not just about one man’s life, but about everything that was once at risk of being erased.
Ferma was open for just one day, which made it feel less like an exhibition and more like a ritual, a quiet gathering among friends. It disrupted the usual art-world format, offering something more intimate, more lived-in.
In a time where everything feels increasingly unstable—politically, environmentally, emotionally—this kind of work resonates more, creating a sense of community. It’s gentler, less demanding of attention, and more inviting of calm reflection.
Summer Moraes is a London-based multidisciplinary artist working primarily through writing, and performance. Under the name Mother Of The Insane, she creates wacky short stories filled with horror, surrealism and absurdity. She hosts the WORMS magazine podcast.
Gabija Grusaite is a Lithuanian writer. She has published three novels: Neissipildymas (2010, 2020), Stasys Saltoka: vieneri metai (2017, 2024), and Grybo sapnas (2023). Grusaite is also immersed in visual and performance art.
