"I always wanted to make a lot of sculptures," says Estonian artist Inessa Saarits when we speak on Zoom. Sculpture, she explains, is a field where "people expect you to work with very heavy materials like stone, metal and concrete that last for a really long time."

But Saarits was never interested in permanence.

"I was conscious that it doesn't make sense to just make things that are just going to be rotting away anyway. So," she says, "I didn't make [sculptures] from concrete, I decided to make them from soil."

Nature, for Saarits, is not just a source of material but an active collaborator in the artistic process. In her solo show "Engraved Forests" last August, she even developed a new printing technique to show the damage bark beetles have caused to spruce trees in Estonian forests — a knock-on effect of rising summer temperatures.

Not that she has anything against working with other humans. "I've never been this kind of lone genius," she laughs. "I think it's so precious to work with people."

Nothing lasts forever

A month after "Engraved Forests," Saarits teamed up with Icelandic visual artist Victoria Björk for the first time. Their joint exhibition "Off Key" in Pärnu explored dreams, memory and oblivion through sculptures made of soap, peat and glass.

The duo had met only briefly a couple of years earlier in Vilnius, during a course about the enduring legacy of Soviet-era monuments in the Baltics — a theme Saarits now finds ironic.

"These metal sculptures were made to last forever, but because so many governments have changed in the Baltic states, the oldest culture that you can find [here] is barely 60 years old," she says.

"For something that is supposed to be there for hundreds or even thousands of years, that's nothing."

That realization reinforced the two artists' shared interest in exploring themes of "collapse, things destroying themselves or being destroyed by nature," Saarits explains.

 After all, she adds, "even those things that we make to last forever, don't."

The beauty of decay

In November, Saarits and Björk reunited once again.

This time at the Estonian Academy of Arts (EKA) Gallery in Tallinn for "compose◠decompose" – a group exhibition exploring what they describe as the "sweet scent of rot and renewal." Though the subject matter may, at first glance, feel unsettling, there's nothing morbid about Saarits' and Björk's approach to decay.

"Rot is essential," Saarits says. "If nothing decomposes, nothing can be composed again."

It's a philosophy that stands in sharp contrast to what can feel like a societal obsession with endless growth and increased productivity.

Saarits credits "The Burnout Society" by Korean author Byung-Chul Han as a major influence on the thought process behind the exhibition's overriding concept. "He writes that the only thing that grows endlessly is cancer," she explains, "and that also ends in death."

Björk, meanwhile, was inspired by the emotional ambiguity shown toward what, after all, are also living things.

"I'm very interested in care," she says. "Where does care for other organisms become control, or even hostility? Some works [in "compose◠decompose"] are about kinds of rot that are very familiar to us," Björk explains. Others, she adds, when I ask about a striking video installation with a section focusing on the stillness of birds after death, "extend into questions about life and [are even] ghostly."

One thing they did insist on, was including works that change over the course of the exhibition's lifespan, whether shaped by insects, mold, plants or chemical reactions.

"We definitely never wanted anything static," Saarits says.

Learning to let go

While "compose◠decompose" deals with issues of decay, for the artists themselves, the exhibition represented a form of professional growth.

Though the initial plan involved Saarits and Björk displaying their own works, they later opted to step back, instead assuming curatorial roles for the first time in their careers. Doing so gave them a whole new perspective on the artistic process.

"As an artist, you're very stubborn with your own work," Björk says. "It's like your child."

"But when you are working with so many different artists and trying to make each of them shine, you have to figure out ways to say, 'hey, this is going to be great, but you have to move things around.'"

Björk admits that was a challenge, while Saarits describes the experience as a "big learning curve."

"But both of us are artists first and foremost," Björk adds, "so we understand the artists' side of not wanting to relinquish control of your own work."

Curating also forced them to focus on other aspects of putting on an exhibition, which in the end grew to include a team of 15 people. "It becomes like a production or a small festival even – there are so many things to take into account," says Saarits.

"Yeah, so I'm happy for [the experience]. But I will definitely continue more as an artist in future," she laughs.

Everything will be fine, sooner or later

The partnership forged between Saarits and Björk is more than just one between two individual artists. It also offers a lens through which to compare the cultural ecosystems in two small countries at opposite ends of Europe.

After all, even though it's total population is lower than Tallinn's, Iceland has achieved a level of cultural visibility on the international stage that most Estonians can only stand back and admire. "

"As Estonians, we're so used to thinking of ourselves as a really small country," Saarits says. "But when Victoria talks about Iceland, suddenly Estonia feels huge."

"Before I ever met Icelanders, I already knew Reykjavik," she adds.

Nevertheless, Björk, sees more similarities than differences between the two countries. "There's a certain humor here," she says of Estonia, "and a shared mindset of trusting that things will somehow work out."

In fact, Björk says, there's an Icelandic phrase – "Þetta reddast" – that neatly sums up that mentality. "It means 'It will resolve itself' or 'everything will be fine sooner or later.'"

When asked what Estonia could learn from Iceland, Björk insists the cultural exchange is mutually beneficial. She believes in particular that Iceland could benefit from Estonia's flexible and accessible approach to funding that allows artists to apply for small grants throughout the year.

"The system in Estonia makes a bit more sense for younger artists, while the system in Iceland makes more sense for already established artists," Björk says.

After rot, comes renewal

After "compose◠decompose" Saarits and Björk are taking a brief pause before deciding on their next steps. New ideas, however, are already starting to take root.

"Now, we're just recovering," says Saarits. "But we also want to bring this exhibition from EKA to Iceland."

"Currently, that's just an idea," she adds, "a seed of thought – there's nothing concrete yet."

Wherever their next collaboration does take place – in Estonia, Iceland or elsewhere – both are happy to let things take their natural course.

"I'm psyched with the exhibition at EKA," Björk smiles. "But I also like open-endedness – with what's going to happen, what's just happened and what's happening now."

After all, as they work shows, rot is always followed by renewal – and Þetta reddast.

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More information about "compose◠decompose" is available here.

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