THE BREEDER PRESENTS Georgia Sagri Kore

You enter the space and it feels like something has been left behind—softly,
deliberately. Materials carry memory: plaster that crumbles like a held breath, worn
fabrics, fragments that seem salvaged rather than made. There’s a hush to it all,
but not an emptiness. It’s the quiet of something recovering. The works seem to
watch as much as they are watched, asking for slowness, for presence. They don’t
explain themselves—they invite you to stay, to feel your way in.
Over time, the figure of kore surfaces—not as a person, but as a thread: daughter,
sculpture, pupil. The pieces echo in pairs and interruptions, unsettling the eye,
drawing on myth, memory, and the body’s deep intelligence. There’s a resistance
here—to speed, to polish, to disconnection. Rooted in the artist’s long healing
practice, Kore carries the spirit of arte povera: humble materials made luminous
through attention. It speaks of loss and care, of absence as presence, and of the
fragile, vital act of beginning again.