First floor. Two doors. Three rooms and a passage area. We call it the "stomach", because through it the chaos of the outside world enters the space, and the next halls are already systematized, tamed and without a film. Red walls, then something similar to a blue-green mix of stripped repairs, behind it a hint of the dominance of black. The last room , seems to have survived a fire. Not a serious, devastating fire, but rather a momentary baptism of fire that will soon be forgotten. The only reminders are the charred walls, black herringbone floor elements and fiery red in the reception area.
Ya Gallery Black got its name due to the interior colors of the rooms and the concept of the first exhibition. It is not yet clear who tames whom: we are the space, or it is us. We saved the space from styrofoam, which prevented breathing. Patterns of the 19th century can be seen in places. Now the walls themselves decide what color to be. The plaster is visible through the black strokes, the blue-green room is not so blue or green, only a surprisingly humble red.
In addition to the black color, Ya Gallery Black professes accessibility. It begins with the absence of stairs and corridor labyrinths. The space is grounded, literally and figuratively. This trend is picked up by window-cells for exhibits, facing the street, the tram junction and the flow of people. Life outside the burned walls rages on, the legs do not stop, and the eyes do not find anything to cling to. So it was. Perhaps it will continue to be so, and perhaps streams of eyes will find our windows, look and see. They will see that art is open to the world. It invites you to see more. We invite you to see more. We invite you to the conversation that has just begun.