Curator's foreword

I saw him in the summer at an exhibition opening in an art gallery in the Old Town. He was wearing Adidas shorts, a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and old brown shoes. His hair had grown out a bit, the circles under his eyes were slightly dark, and his voice was a little hoarse. There was a faint scent of sawdust, sweat, and tobacco lingering around him. In his pocket, nails, screws, and keys clinked together. He looked as if he had just come from a sculptor’s workshop, from his grandmother’s place, or maybe had only just gotten out of bed. I felt like I had seen him before, but we had never been formally introduced. So this is Uru Valter, I thought, wiping my sweaty hands on the back of my own Adidas shorts.

Of course, none of this ever actually happened. In truth, Uru Valter does not exist –neither as a real person nor as a fictional character. The name is simply a construct, a shared creative identity conceived by artists Erik Hõim, Ats Kruusing, and Eke Ao Nettan. It emerges not as a fixed entity but as a presence that comes alive in the act of making, in a state of collective flow. The only proof of its existence lies in the works born from this process – sculptures, videos, photographs, paintings, and performances. This collaborative creation is marked by a theatrical flair, an affinity for simple values, a touch of national romanticism, a reverence for craftsmanship, and a certain youthful lightness – something that could be described in words without fully embracing it.

What can one hold on to in a time when traditional roles and hierarchies have lost their meaning? When even the things that once felt certain are no longer fixed? What path should a young man take – one who, in the past, would have been born and died in the same place, dedicating his life to hard physical labour, but who now has the freedom to pursue whatever his heart desires? Sometimes I feel that I am a little bit of Uru Valter myself too. At the very least, I resonate with that longing – for something deeply felt, yet impossible to define. There is a paradoxical nostalgia for a time you never lived, a sentiment that seems common today. Perhaps there is a piece of it in you, too?

In preparation for their exhibition at Tallinn City Gallery, Uru Valter travelled across Estonia, touching the sea, sniffing the wind, reading August Mälk, and contemplating these things at length. Tradition brings to mind conservatism, which, in a left-leaning and progressive mind, often tends to be associated with closed-mindedness, xenophobia, and a dead-end nostalgia for the “good old days”. Yet, in reality, conservatism is just the other side of the coin – the root of an endlessly branching canopy, signifying what endures, persists, and preserves. This spiral-structured exhibition, too, coils inward like a seashell, groping for something to hold onto.

Uru Valter does not seem to engage with tradition and archetypes out of disappointment or escapism but rather with a spirit of creation and renewal. Their work is rooted in a kind of wordless “poetry of labour”, a benevolent manipulation of eras and mediums. The treasure trove they draw from is not necessarily that of a nation, but first and foremost that of a place. From the imagery, symbols, customs, and memes found here, they take what still resonates today – what simply holds. Anything that collapses with a hiss upon impact, releasing a foul stench, is left behind. And yet, it seems there are certain melodies, scents, textures, and views that are familiar to me, to him, and to you alike.