A goat carcass, and several thousand riders converging on it across open steppe. A sculpture assembled from borrowed objects, to be taken apart the day the show closes.

Three artists register the forces pressing on people and things: the market that assigns value, the border that reroutes a life, the war that rewrites a landscape overnight. None of them announce themselves. They arrive as habit, as material, as the ordinary shape of a day.

Gleb Amankulov builds from things gathered rather than made — castoffs from thrift stores and flea markets, objects borrowed from friends or from the gallery hosting the show. Nothing is welded, broken, or altered. When the exhibition ends the works come apart and their parts go back into circulation. What art production usually keeps out of sight — the budget, the space, the labour — is left in view.

Said Atabekov films kokpar, the horse game in which riders compete for the carcass of a goat. Several thousand converge on a field in the open steppe; from any distance it looks like a battle. Born in Uzbekistan, based in Kazakhstan, he came of age as Central Asia moved from nomadic life through communism into capitalism — three worlds in one lifetime. He takes the game as an accurate description of how the world runs: everything fighting for its place, the outcome settled by a judge none of the riders can see.

Lucy Ivanova starts from things she has seen. A bouquet someone gave her, which she opened out until it became a story. A field outside Vienna ploughed under in winter, the chopped remains of beet or radish left lying on the earth. She paints them as she saw them and then takes the realism apart. What holds her, she says, is the tension between the child's world and the adult one.

Nothing here asks to be resolved — only noticed. Where the weight falls, and how, against it, people go on making things.