WHITE TRINITY Who was the first human to gaze up into the sky? From the ancients, who bequeathed us the map of the starry sky, we learnt the first truths – time and space. But our abstract concept of spatiality, closely intertwined with paradox, didn't exist for Aristotle; the Greeks understood the world only in terms of place and motion. In the course of the scientific revolutions of the 17th century, space was born out of the conflict between the enlargement of the deep universe and the shrinking of our bodily perceptions – our size has been forever diminished. But what is space then? Is it in the void that we look away from, in the surfaces that bend our visual field or a mathematical set of points? Valentin Korzhov's shapeless surfaces and polyhedrons belong not among the limited definition of sculptural objects, but they're rather the what-ness of our earthly life: We are co-extensive with space. Wherever we go and make matter move, even if just by the soft paddling inside our heart – space changes. Laid out on a snowy white field in the Moscow suburb of Nikolina Gara, where the contours of the landscape merge seamlessly with the uneven contours of pure white objects thrown in space, what we are looking at are not objects but phenomena: They are inspired by distant astronomical bodies captured by the Hubble Telescope. These infinitesimally remote astral projections, do not exist out there as we have seen them, or at least not anymore – they are both representation and archetype of our primeval consciousness, not unlike that part of ourselves we uncannily find in the prehistoric art. If space is a combination of locales, as Heidegger suggests, how do we arrive at space at all? Once upon a time, at the beginning of history, physical space and metaphysical place coincided, but this perfectly hierarchical arrangement had to be destroyed in order to make place for paradox: After the era of the space race, the lights of the sky have suddenly turned dimmer, we are no longer gazing up. Yet our imbalance remains.