Cosmo marks the first chapter of a three-part exhibition: an assembly of puzzle pieces that reveal their logic, space, time, and matter, only when considered as a whole. In this opening chapter each object mirrors another, not through likeness but through the material echo of its form, as if worlds, planets, and invented universes had collided in an overcrowded playground. Here a toylike sense of shelter and exposure coexists, the comfort of miniature environments alongside the disquiet of being too seen, too close.

Smooth surfaces and tightly choreographed forms amplify a subtle fetishism of objects, a seduction of precision and excess. Crossing a threshold through a peephole (or Katzenloch) the viewer enters a space that is cramped yet strangely affirming. It is where surreal objects that should not belong still reflect one another, proposing harmony through contradiction, awkwardness, and proximity.

The so-called Big Bad Wolf is a pivotal presence capable of shifting the tone in this compressed environment. The wolf becomes a cipher for the friction between instinct and civilization, wildness and danger, yet bound by loyalty. It embodies the shadowed parts of the self that seek both independence and belonging, the undo- mesticated and the domesticated simultaneously. Unlike a dog or cat, the Big Bad Wolf cannot be tamed as it stands for the unknown, a presence that resists control and familiarity. Throughout human storytelling, it has carried our fears, warnings, and desires. Capable of mirroring what we do not understand in ourselves.

This is a moment we cannot fully comprehend, yet trespassing becomes a way of moving through this space. Objects point, redirect, and convert, suggesting pathways without ever really settling them. A motif that signals transition recurs obsessively in Scholz’s work: the doorknob. After crossing into this cramped interior, door- knobs represent the moment before entering or exiting, the pause in which change is negotiated. Another marker of transition is time, represented by the cuckoo clock serving as both alarm and the temporal passage within this micro-universe. The clock evokes rhythm and order, symbolizing routine, and the human desire to organize and measure life.

A decay-like atmosphere permeates the scene, holes in shelf-like structures, bitten houses, eroded landscapes, and fallen birds. Within this cosmology, precision, playfulness, and excess are fraying at the edges. After all, cosmo is only the first part of three, a conversational opener rather than a conclusion. What follows remains deliberately unfinished.

— Anna Hugo