Each person ends their exhibition tour in a different place

Each person ends their exhibition tour in a different place. Personally, I leave the house of horror as if it were an old folks’ home. After all, with each year aren’t we becoming more and more scared? The very opposite of what we tell our children: Don’t fear, my daughter. Don’t fret, my son. When you grow up like your mother, you’ll fear nothing. But we still fear. Perhaps only sometimes, like just a moment ago during our tour, we fear feeling less. To simply feel. My aim has been to curate and sequence these exhibits to have you experience universal emotions. Even when we fail to explain what fundamental feelings are all about, we can still experience them. It’s not just old women, to paraphrase Trzeciak’s translation of Różewicz’s “The Story of Old Women”, but also emotions “are like an ovum / a mystery devoid of mystery / a sphere that rolls in”.

Obviously, each feeling earns its separate exhibition. Each could have its own brick-and-mortar museum. I can already see passels of melancholics slipping into reverie, sipping red wine at an exhibition opening held by the Museum of Sadness. Or protesting as part of the women’s rights movement, and then dashing from the demonstration to the Museum of Anger. Here, online, all feelings are fused, fumbled, as they are in their natural state – in a clenched fist.

But even that’s an exhibition.

Joy, anger, fear, sadness, revulsion. This is an uncomfortable and disturbing gallery. A register of fundamental feelings. A record of elemental emotions. A museum of facial expressions. So be it. Let it upset. And perhaps with time it’ll soothe someone, bring relief as with a clench that is eventually relaxed. For just as you can name every finger, you can also feel everything.