'Men in general judge more by what they see than what they feel,' a well-known political thinker advised his patron, Lorenzo de' Medici. Lorenzo was the son of one of the most prominent patrons of art in history.

How we look, how we behave, our clothes and the words we use are what others judge when they see us. Our appearance is our second skin — it connects us to others and makes us visible. Yet, as everyone knows, appearance is not what an object or person really is. It is also not a sure way to attract attention.

Olek, a Polish-born artist now based in New York, seems fascinated by the 'second skin' — the outer expressions of people and objects. Rather than uncovering the meaning of people and objects, as many artists do, she wraps them in layers of yarn. Her motley wraps of people, sculptures and objects can now be seen in contemporary art galleries, on city streets and in public spaces.

Sometimes her wraps make things seem more innocent than they really are, like the covered bull on Wall Street, or more mystical, like the man in the shopping trolley on a New York street.

Bright colours and the plasticity of her objects are common features of Olek's art. She says that she seeks to bring colour, life, energy and surprise to her work. She succeeds. Her art brings even the most ordinary objects to life. Her crochet work makes people and things visible, bright and desirable. She is obsessed with covering finished objects, such as real people, cars, household appliances and park benches. Every object looks remarkable and interesting in its colourful yarn skin, making us want to reveal its meaning.

"You have to pull the end of the yarn and unravel the story behind the crochet," says Olek. Her colourful creations connect us with the world around us. Now, we are ready not only to judge them with our eyes, but also to experience them with our hands.

Olek's work can be seen in Montreal at Gallerie NuEdge, 1480 Sherbrooke West (www.galerienuedge.com). To learn more about Olek's art, please visit: www.agataolek.com

T.S.Tsonchev, The Montreal Review