We were born in the 1980s and came of age in a newly independent country searching for its own identity; submerged in the din of postcolonial debate, amid vigorous nation-building, in a space charged with authentic national art, tradition, racketeering, flea markets, curfews, and rolling power outages. Today we are in our thirties; the country appears, at first glance, to have settled, yet at times we still do not feel solid ground beneath us in the form of tradition. We are told Abai is everything to us, then that Abai is no one; we were told Pushkin was ours, only to find, on closer inspection, that he was not; we arrange dates at the monument to Khan Kene and imagine the brilliant meteor Shoqan is everything to us; we create patriotically charged images for Instagram pages using photographs of Alikhan and Turar, without examining the contradictions in the views and fates of these very different people; we drink coffee from Starbucks cups with a cigarette in hand, while enjoying the melodic sound of the azan, and now and then muse in passing on the ephemerality of gender. This is our mosaic reality in a world after ideology, religion, and secularism, after science and modernization, after history and capitalism. Reality expands in every direction at once, yet, we do not lose ourselves, for in a collaged reality we can be whoever we wish. And so we do not stop imagining and inventing, nor do we forget to find. This exhibition is a fair of everything that came to us and everything we imagined on our own.