The exhibition unfolds inside the Chamber of Agriculture as a quiet intervention into a space built to organise land, productivity, and progress. The architecture draws directly from the material language of melioration: drainage pipes, reclaimed felt, and industrial textures reappear as spatial elements—bent, knotted, repurposed. These materials do not illustrate agriculture; they carry its logic, exposing how systems designed to improve and control the land also leave lasting marks.
Rather than structuring the space cleanly, the architecture behaves like an aftereffect. Pipes twist into unstable forms, surfaces soften under layers of reused felt, and the exhibition floor becomes a site of tension between order and residue. Progress is felt not as a promise, but as a material condition—something heavy, persistent, and unevenly distributed.
Set within an institution historically tied to planning and extraction, Melioration treats architecture as a mediator between landscape and ideology. The space does not resolve the contradictions of modernization; it holds them. What remains is a bodily experience of progress—tangled, sedimented, and impossible to fully drain.