Harvest time comes as a pause. Silos emptied in the winter and spring quietly wait to be refilled. As the sun sets, summer’s last heat sheets the atmosphere. For a moment, all growth ceases. The crop stands golden and ripe. And then that moment’s over. With the passing of a harvester, a sickle, or a scythe, the land lays barren.

For Harvest Time, Raissa Angeli creates a climate that comes into being in such a pause. In a space out of time, neither future nor past, where references to both seem to be slipping and become lost. Where everything new seems to have come before, its novelty interrupted, and all allusions to the past come out of joint. Primordial structures are built a new, prefabricated staircases have no function, and unceasing cycles, for a moment, halt in time.The future is as much an impossibility as the past. The past can never.

Text by Aris Mochloulis