A colourful coat on a hanger on the wall. Next to it, a walking stick made of turned wood. On the floor, there are two shoes with horns on the toes, halfway up on on the caps. 'Rhinoceros shoes' is what Lie called them, although with their modified laces and broadly cut mouth, they reminded me just as much of catfish, the prehistoric fish that can be found all over Europe.
The walking stick has also been modified: the handle does not seem to match the turned stick, which looks like it might be quite springy. Going on its turned appearance, it might be made of honeysuckle wood. And then there's the coat. It has a pattern of colours, which is not a pattern, yet has clearly been applied so precisely by hand that certain areas of colour have emerged that look like stains caused by someone wiping paint-covered hands. Lie used a special procedure for this, using an original artist's coat as a model and a source of inspiration. In this way, an ensemble has been created that invites the viewer to put it on and leave, although it could also have been left behind by someone that arrived here recently. This is what matters - the original owner of the coat, shoes and stick is not present, and you, the viewer, are suddenly aware of the fact that each moment of stopping and of staying in a particular place is temporary. The temporariness is not the only thing you become aware of, however, but also the unmistakeable uniqueness of the things that belong to someone else - not because they are someone's property, but because they have assumed qualities that are inalienable.
If your first reaction upon seeing this work was to burst out laughing, you now become aware of the seriousness of the truth of these objects, the real truth that emerges when you exchange their function in terms of utility for their true character. This seems to be what the artist is seeking and what makes her a real sculptress: the search for the truth objects, which can mainly be found by removing their usual, self-evident quality. That can only be done by changing them, keeping the important parts, while tinkering with the accents. The result is a seemingly light-hearted installation that does its best to disguise melancholy wisdom, but leaves you with the nagging question of the eternal duality of existence, in which the 'here and now' is always at odds with the past and the future, and your own presence with the emptiness left behind by another.