When I first met Günnur Özsoy's sculptures, I associated these colorful, classy, erotic objects with weightless celestial bodies: beings not affected by gravity, although having some mass. Here and there, they were scattered around the workshop shelves, but I still identified them with meteorites floating in space. Also, Günnur usually preferred to hang them with transparent fish lines. The light polyester shell also encouraged this association.

The purification of the abstract sculpture figuratively, frees it up: even though the closed formation brings rocks and tectonic natural objects to mind, we are also reminded of a reckoning with gravity without the recollection of the bodily functions of standing on one's feet, or stepping somewhere.

But when matter is hallowed out, leaving the image of the closed mass given to it by its walls and outer geometry, it turns into an organism which carries itself within itself: in space, its fibrous bone-like being turns into an independent structure and balance with its inner tensions. Now, being hanged is in accord with its own nature. The leading figure of the artists' most recent works, Costa Mea, tells us that this pose upon the pedestal might just be temporary, that it's always ready to move; relations between weight, gravity and gap whisper different possibilities and dilemmas: branching out, growing with new joints, implying the space in which similar ones could also be hanged, between its ribs, beyond their own inner gap.