Anxi & :(
2025 - 2026, ceramic, installation, text
Anxi & :( part of Rana, Golul si Angoasa (RGB)
12.12.2025 - 10.03.2026
Calciu Space, Bucharest
A few bleak thoughts about where I’m from:
Here in this little country, I keep witnessing—as an observer of all those social phenomena that defy definitions—moments when normality, progress, real solutions seem just one step away. And then, suddenly, everything swerves either toward brutal capitalism, sleek and polished yet empty at its core, or toward the wretched paralysis of a many-headed organism whose stated mission is the collective good, but which suffers from chronic anemia and cannot absorb anything nourishing, so it simply pisses everything back out.
It's like wanting to buy a lottery ticket, having the money ready in your hand, only to discover the lottery kiosk has burned to the ground.
A fruit that never reaches ripeness; all the effort of blossoming somehow wasted.
I find myself unable to grow attached, and it's strange to admit that, because this is the only place I've ever lived, the only place I've ever called home.
—Lea Rasovszky, 2025
12.12.2025 - 10.03.2026
Calciu Space, Bucharest
A few bleak thoughts about where I’m from:
Here in this little country, I keep witnessing—as an observer of all those social phenomena that defy definitions—moments when normality, progress, real solutions seem just one step away. And then, suddenly, everything swerves either toward brutal capitalism, sleek and polished yet empty at its core, or toward the wretched paralysis of a many-headed organism whose stated mission is the collective good, but which suffers from chronic anemia and cannot absorb anything nourishing, so it simply pisses everything back out.
It's like wanting to buy a lottery ticket, having the money ready in your hand, only to discover the lottery kiosk has burned to the ground.
A fruit that never reaches ripeness; all the effort of blossoming somehow wasted.
I find myself unable to grow attached, and it's strange to admit that, because this is the only place I've ever lived, the only place I've ever called home.
—Lea Rasovszky, 2025
Nectar Blood, Diamond Skin
2025, ceramic, installation
Nectar Bloood, Diamond Skin part of Household Items, 2025
06.09.2025 - 28.09.2025
Indecis artist-run, Bucharest
curator: Teodora Talhoș
I’ve been collecting bugs with my daughter all summer long.
At first, they seemed strange and a little unsettling—so far removed from the human experience she’d known until now, or from the insects she’d only seen in illustrations and cartoons. There is so much danger in that small being. It is tiny, yet when you see it in focus, it makes you—the giant—feel small. And smooth. And somehow unnatural.
Summer is now over and we’ve met many. We praise insects for their strength and beauty. We talk about them often, staring at their unreal faces, their delicate designs, and their millions of fangs. Maybe an ideal of being in the world, I tell my almost-40-year-old self and my almost-5-year-old daughter, is to be fierce as biology is fierce, beautiful in a wild and unpredictible way, effortlesly still, grounded in one’s own world.
Whenever we find one, spotting it like a gem in the grass, we stop and gather around, offering it one of our fingers. If it agrees to be seen, we bring it closer, and our eyes perform an impossible trick—seeing it as though through a magnifying glass. Something you could simply take and play with, yet also might not dare to, because it just might bite your head off with its pretty mouth. And it really could. Look at it.
It’s an interesting thought to have while inhabiting the core of your soft, uneven, tired self. There’s not an edge on my body I can name. They are all gathered inside me, like an insideout sea urchin. You might even forget what beauty used to mean to you—that impossible, superficial standard that clung to you for so long, for some reason. What even was it?
All I see now is a microscopic creature of ravaging beauty. I want this.
This thing I’m looking at—this gorgeous beast—has been lurking quietly in the tall grass, in a deep Amazonian shade, suckling peach nectar and eating translucent diamond worms, feeling the scent of the earth in the green sap it has for blood. I can’t help thinking about what it must be like to know nothing of the terrible weight of our silly human world.
Lea Rasovszky, 2025
06.09.2025 - 28.09.2025
Indecis artist-run, Bucharest
curator: Teodora Talhoș
I’ve been collecting bugs with my daughter all summer long.
At first, they seemed strange and a little unsettling—so far removed from the human experience she’d known until now, or from the insects she’d only seen in illustrations and cartoons. There is so much danger in that small being. It is tiny, yet when you see it in focus, it makes you—the giant—feel small. And smooth. And somehow unnatural.
Summer is now over and we’ve met many. We praise insects for their strength and beauty. We talk about them often, staring at their unreal faces, their delicate designs, and their millions of fangs. Maybe an ideal of being in the world, I tell my almost-40-year-old self and my almost-5-year-old daughter, is to be fierce as biology is fierce, beautiful in a wild and unpredictible way, effortlesly still, grounded in one’s own world.
Whenever we find one, spotting it like a gem in the grass, we stop and gather around, offering it one of our fingers. If it agrees to be seen, we bring it closer, and our eyes perform an impossible trick—seeing it as though through a magnifying glass. Something you could simply take and play with, yet also might not dare to, because it just might bite your head off with its pretty mouth. And it really could. Look at it.
It’s an interesting thought to have while inhabiting the core of your soft, uneven, tired self. There’s not an edge on my body I can name. They are all gathered inside me, like an insideout sea urchin. You might even forget what beauty used to mean to you—that impossible, superficial standard that clung to you for so long, for some reason. What even was it?
All I see now is a microscopic creature of ravaging beauty. I want this.
This thing I’m looking at—this gorgeous beast—has been lurking quietly in the tall grass, in a deep Amazonian shade, suckling peach nectar and eating translucent diamond worms, feeling the scent of the earth in the green sap it has for blood. I can’t help thinking about what it must be like to know nothing of the terrible weight of our silly human world.
Lea Rasovszky, 2025
Anxi & :(
2025 - 2026, ceramic, installation, text
Sucking at Life Through a Makeshift Straw part of Violence In My Heart
02.09.2025 - 30.09.2025
Matka Satelit, Bucharest
I SWEAR, I'VE BEEN LIVING ON THIS
EARTH FOR A WHILE AND IT STILL FEELS
STRANGE TO OWN A BODY, ITS
SHAPE (SO OFTEN DISCONNECTED FROM THE
NARRATOR) IS A LIVING, BREATHING THING.
THE BODY IS LIKE A LOYAL
PET YOU SOMETIMES FORGET
TO LOVE.
LEARNING TO LOVE YOURSELF IS
LIKE SUCKING AT LIFE THROUGH A
MAKESHIFT STRAW. ITS COMPLEXITY
IS IMPRESSIVE, BUT IT MISSES THE
POINT ENTIRELY. THE BINDINGS ARE
HARDLY AIRTIGHT. HYDRATION IS
NOT GOING TO HAPPEN
WHAT MAKES US CHOOSE THE
MORE COMPLICATED SOLUTION,
THE ONE THAT INVOLVES A STEADY
GENEROUS SLICE OF Self Punishment CAKE?
COULD IT BE THAT
OUR THIRST IS TURNING THIS
LIQUID INTO AN ALL
HEALING NECTAR?
(JUST IN THOUGHT, NO
ACTUAL PROOF.)
WHY DO WE FEEL THE
WATER FLOWING THROUGH
OUR BODIES IS LESS
OF A MIRACLE?
BECAUSE IT REALLY IS.
Lea Rasovszky, 2025
02.09.2025 - 30.09.2025
Matka Satelit, Bucharest
I SWEAR, I'VE BEEN LIVING ON THIS
EARTH FOR A WHILE AND IT STILL FEELS
STRANGE TO OWN A BODY, ITS
SHAPE (SO OFTEN DISCONNECTED FROM THE
NARRATOR) IS A LIVING, BREATHING THING.
THE BODY IS LIKE A LOYAL
PET YOU SOMETIMES FORGET
TO LOVE.
LEARNING TO LOVE YOURSELF IS
LIKE SUCKING AT LIFE THROUGH A
MAKESHIFT STRAW. ITS COMPLEXITY
IS IMPRESSIVE, BUT IT MISSES THE
POINT ENTIRELY. THE BINDINGS ARE
HARDLY AIRTIGHT. HYDRATION IS
NOT GOING TO HAPPEN
WHAT MAKES US CHOOSE THE
MORE COMPLICATED SOLUTION,
THE ONE THAT INVOLVES A STEADY
GENEROUS SLICE OF Self Punishment CAKE?
COULD IT BE THAT
OUR THIRST IS TURNING THIS
LIQUID INTO AN ALL
HEALING NECTAR?
(JUST IN THOUGHT, NO
ACTUAL PROOF.)
WHY DO WE FEEL THE
WATER FLOWING THROUGH
OUR BODIES IS LESS
OF A MIRACLE?
BECAUSE IT REALLY IS.
Lea Rasovszky, 2025
People You’ve Been Before
2024, drawing, installation, ceramic object, dioramas, text, sound
People You’ve Been Before
17.05.2024 - 10.08.2024
Mobius Gallery, Bucharest
I look into people’s homes in the evening as I walk toward my own. I take advantage of the glow from chandeliers, cold neon lights, bedside lamps, the flickering TV—grasping at whatever I can, absorbing details with a kind of hunger. My mind races to map everything in that fraction of a second (really, it’s two or three, but it feels like less), to gather clues, trying desperately to make my glance seem casual—not the semi-desperate staring it actually is inside.
I wonder what it’s like in there. How it smells. Where the secrets hide. What dreams are unfolding for those asleep. In other people’s homes, the air is different, laced with particles of an unknowable DNA—twisted, like a soul caught mid-meditation, or like a spider crushed under a boot by accident.
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to walk up, knock on a door, press the handle. The door would swing open with a short, startled cry, revealing something irreversible, raw. We’d shock each other—but also recognize one another.
Then the door would close again, sealing that world away. We wouldn’t say a word, but we’d know: in another life, or maybe even this one, we could have been each other.
—Lea Rasovszky, 2022
17.05.2024 - 10.08.2024
Mobius Gallery, Bucharest
I look into people’s homes in the evening as I walk toward my own. I take advantage of the glow from chandeliers, cold neon lights, bedside lamps, the flickering TV—grasping at whatever I can, absorbing details with a kind of hunger. My mind races to map everything in that fraction of a second (really, it’s two or three, but it feels like less), to gather clues, trying desperately to make my glance seem casual—not the semi-desperate staring it actually is inside.
I wonder what it’s like in there. How it smells. Where the secrets hide. What dreams are unfolding for those asleep. In other people’s homes, the air is different, laced with particles of an unknowable DNA—twisted, like a soul caught mid-meditation, or like a spider crushed under a boot by accident.
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to walk up, knock on a door, press the handle. The door would swing open with a short, startled cry, revealing something irreversible, raw. We’d shock each other—but also recognize one another.
Then the door would close again, sealing that world away. We wouldn’t say a word, but we’d know: in another life, or maybe even this one, we could have been each other.
—Lea Rasovszky, 2022
Flowers Growing Out Of My Chest
2021, drawing, ceramic object, installation, text
Flowers Growing Out Of My Chest
26 Nov 2021 - 29 Jan 2022
Mobius Gallery, Bucharest
Curator: Stefania Dobrescu
The exhibition showcases a series of new works through which the artist explores the dynamism of music on the relationship between mind and body, trying to define how individuals shift from a solitary condition into an unguided daze that metamorphoses oneself toward beings influenced by rhythm and sound. This energy is transmitted through an unseen sound passage that veils all the social discrepancies and allows individuals to connect and share the same vibration. Lea Rasovszky’s works celebrate the misfits, unglamorous people that do not align with the expected criteria, but face it with boldness, simply because the liberty of being yourself right in the middle of others is just too good to let it go.
There are a few ways to describe the instant primal attachment that we can have with music. It moves and comforts us most wonderfully and purely. Flowers Growing Out of My Chest is a kingdom that sustains itself by developing people’s connection to one sound-euphoria ecosystem, a place that urges you to feel that moment when energy is oozing out from your entire body. Sooner or later, before you know it, flowers are growing out of your chest, heart and proximity, in this place that allows a universal language and no effort to use it, because without a word everyone is experiencing the same unifying feeling - the comfort of displaying who they really are or who they could be. It takes fierce will to let yourself be, and the taste of that is an explosion of colours, nuclear blue is coming out of your ears, your skin is turning bright pink, lavish green, pandemonium yellow, light is flashing through your eyes, and everything is taking the shape it should have been from the beginning.
In the middle of this burst of colours, as all things are coming in synchrony with the rhythm, and as the windows can't hold in the disco lights, muffling the sound, there is a message of comfort. Here we can finally come at ease with the duality that makes us both kind and harsh, affectionate and uncaring, composed and scattered, in its all significance and insignificance. Lea’s humanoid figures, both on paper and ceramics, lay at the border of what we can and could see. They are the ones already enjoying the music, the ones that let the sound cover any doubt coming from within, yet they never changed - just become who they were from the start. They have no real or false self and no contradictions to wrestle with, the kind-of primordial and raw state allows them to explore a pathway of connecting to others, a need that can be forgotten or ignored but never replicated. You can look at them from a corner, through a strict dogmatic judgement or just with amusement, but there is no price high enough to be paid for the liberty of owning yourself. You may as well join the party and embrace the joy and hardship of self-discovery.
26 Nov 2021 - 29 Jan 2022
Mobius Gallery, Bucharest
Curator: Stefania Dobrescu
The exhibition showcases a series of new works through which the artist explores the dynamism of music on the relationship between mind and body, trying to define how individuals shift from a solitary condition into an unguided daze that metamorphoses oneself toward beings influenced by rhythm and sound. This energy is transmitted through an unseen sound passage that veils all the social discrepancies and allows individuals to connect and share the same vibration. Lea Rasovszky’s works celebrate the misfits, unglamorous people that do not align with the expected criteria, but face it with boldness, simply because the liberty of being yourself right in the middle of others is just too good to let it go.
There are a few ways to describe the instant primal attachment that we can have with music. It moves and comforts us most wonderfully and purely. Flowers Growing Out of My Chest is a kingdom that sustains itself by developing people’s connection to one sound-euphoria ecosystem, a place that urges you to feel that moment when energy is oozing out from your entire body. Sooner or later, before you know it, flowers are growing out of your chest, heart and proximity, in this place that allows a universal language and no effort to use it, because without a word everyone is experiencing the same unifying feeling - the comfort of displaying who they really are or who they could be. It takes fierce will to let yourself be, and the taste of that is an explosion of colours, nuclear blue is coming out of your ears, your skin is turning bright pink, lavish green, pandemonium yellow, light is flashing through your eyes, and everything is taking the shape it should have been from the beginning.
In the middle of this burst of colours, as all things are coming in synchrony with the rhythm, and as the windows can't hold in the disco lights, muffling the sound, there is a message of comfort. Here we can finally come at ease with the duality that makes us both kind and harsh, affectionate and uncaring, composed and scattered, in its all significance and insignificance. Lea’s humanoid figures, both on paper and ceramics, lay at the border of what we can and could see. They are the ones already enjoying the music, the ones that let the sound cover any doubt coming from within, yet they never changed - just become who they were from the start. They have no real or false self and no contradictions to wrestle with, the kind-of primordial and raw state allows them to explore a pathway of connecting to others, a need that can be forgotten or ignored but never replicated. You can look at them from a corner, through a strict dogmatic judgement or just with amusement, but there is no price high enough to be paid for the liberty of owning yourself. You may as well join the party and embrace the joy and hardship of self-discovery.