Kateřina Šedá (1977) is a Czech artist whose work is close to social architecture. In 1999–2005 she studied at the Academy of Fine Arts in Prague under Professor Vladimír Kokolia.

In her work, Kateřina Šedá focuses on socially-conceived events, often involving dozens or hundreds of people who have nothing to do with art. The events mostly take place directly in the villages or on the city streets. The purpose of experimenting with interpersonal relationships is to bring those involved out of their stereotypes or social isolation. She tries to induce a lasting change in their behaviour by means of their own (provoked) activity and a new usage of everyday resources. 

She is the author of a number of socially conceived projects that she realised in the Czech Republic and abroad. She was invited to make individual projects for example by LIAF, Norway (2019), Ikon gallery, Birmingham (2019), IHME, Helsinki (2016), SF Moma, San Francisco (2013–2014), Tate Modern, London (2011), and many others. She exhibited at 16th International Architecture Exhibition in Venice (2018), the MMOMA, Moscow (2016), the Echigo-Tsumari Art Triennale 2015 in Japan, the Venice Biennale (2013), Kunstmuseum Luzern (2012), the Mori Museum, Tokyo (2010), the New Museum, New York (2009), Manifesta 7, Bolzano (2008), the 5th Berlin Biennale (2008), the Renaissance Society, Chicago (2008) and Documenta 12, Kassel (2007), among others.

She received many awards for her work: Architect of the Year 2017 (Czech republic), Magnesia Litera for journalism (Czech Republic), TAKU Production Prize (Finland), The Most Beautiful Czech Books (Czech Republic), Contemporary Art Society Award (Great Britain), Jindřich Chalupecký Award (Czech Republic), Fluxus Award (Germany), Essl Award (Austria), among others. 

She has published more than thirty books and publications, mapping her individual projects in detail. She lectures about her work at schools, in cultural centres and galleries, but also in villages and small towns, trying to give an idea about her work to large audiences, and thus prompt them to their own activity.


Vladiya Mihaylova is a curator and a cultural theorist. Since 2007 she has been part of the team of Sofia City Art Gallery as a curator at Vaska Emanouilova Gallery where she works with the programs for contemporary art and the museum archive of the gallery.

She is interested in cultural history, contemporary art, the social, political and educational aspects of the institutions for art. Mihaylova has collaborated as curator with artists for projects in public spaces, selfinstitutionalizing platforms, educational initiatives, etc.; among these were long-term projects receiving widespread public attention such as Project 0 by Kiril Kuzmanov (2010 – 2014) about the space of Kapana in Plovdiv, 0gms Gallery in a Drawer by Ivan Moudov (2010-2013); she is the initiator and the curator of the on-going project The 90s. The Beginning of the Myth (2015 -) about the popular culture of the transition period in Bulgaria. In 2015 she curated the Sofia Queer Forum edition under the motto “Sweet Union”. Vladiya participated in the main work group (Visual Arts field) which developed the Strategy for the free arts scene in Sofia – A Shared Vision (2016 – 2018). She is a graduate of the Cultural Management Academy of Goethe-Institut, Sofia, and Sofia Capital (Stolichna) Municipality (2015 – 2016). In 2017 she was the curator of Open Art Foundation anniversary celebration programme as part of the NIGHT/Plovdiv festival, as well as of the large-scale exhibition Shifting Layers. Young Art at the Museum, presenting young artists at Sofia City Art Gallery.

Over the years, she has been attending various curatorial courses and has explored the work of contemporary authors in Sweden, Austria, Italy, Germany and elsewhere. Vladiya Mihaylova is the author of numerous articles published in authors’ catalogues, biennial catalogues, art editions and the cultural press in Bulgaria and abroad. Part of these are: Portal and Kultura newspaper, the Marginalia website for human rights, Flash Art International, KubaParis, etc. In 2012 she received The Essential Reading for Art Writers Award for critics of the Institute of Contemporary Art, Sofia, for articles dedicated to the topic of young artists in Bulgaria –“The Global Generation”. Her texts on art after 1989 in Bulgaria have been published in academic magazines and publications of Sofia University and New Bulgarian University.

My largest public project to date was “There’s Nothing There,” a community game involving most of the residents of the Moravian town of Ponětovice. The results of a questionnaire I distributed to the town’s inhabitants showed that most families would spend their Saturdays doing similar things. My second finding was that the villagers harbored a certain skepticism: they thought anything important would be taking place in cities (they would say “there’s nothing here” when talking about their village). My task was to put their everyday life on display. I drew from the questionnaire to formulate a Schedule for a Day – an obligatory program for Saturday, May 5, 2003 – and tried to convince all of the town’s people to stick to it. So,everyone got up out of bed, went shopping (everyone bought the same thing for a symbolic, sponsored price), swept their walkways, had a lunch of tomato sauce and dumplings, went out for a beer and then all turned out their lights at the same time. This simple game helped show people that big things can happen in a small town too: you just all have to do them together. (Kateřina Šedá, 2003)

Production: 2003
Site: Ponětovice, Czech Republic
Participants: Residents of the village of Ponětovice
Drawings: Kateřina Šedá
Graphic design: Kateřina Šedá
Photography: Vít Klusák, Kateřina Šedá
Production team: Kateřina Šedá
The project originated as a year-end assignment (3rd year) for Prof.
Vladimír Kokolia at the Academy of Fine Arts in Prague

UNES-CO video

In a land beyond seven mountains, seven rivers, and seven hills, there arose the most beautiful town of the Czech lands. It was said that nowhere else on earth could one find so much beauty, and the word began to spread that it was a true jewel of a city. Visitors from all corners of the world came to admire it in awe, and each of them wanted to spend at least a night. But there weren’t enough houses, and so the local townsfolk began to give their home over to the people from the faraway lands. Each visitor thus spent a comfortable night in town, ate his fill at a local inn, and purchased something for the long journey home. The news spread quickly across the world, and the number of visitors grew with each passing year. And so, the town’s residents gave up what homes were left in the center and built themselves simple houses on the outskirts of town. That’s where they moved the shops they needed for their daily lives (the pharmacy, the greengrocer, the drugstore…), too. The foreign visitors weren’t interested in such things anyway. In their place, shops sprang up with far more precious goods: gold, jewelry, precious gems, leather – a feast for the eyes! Ever greater numbers of foreign visitors came from ever greater distances. The streets filled with masses of people who would stand around in large groups, admiring every detail with great excitement. The town became impassable, so the locals decided to give up the streets as well; they no longer came into town at all. They translated everything into languages the tourists would understand and promised, should they ever venture into the old town, that they would try to be invisible. The foreigners were excited, and more and more came all the time. They took pictures everywhere – of themselves and each other. Everything looked perfect, until our hero came and ruined it all.

This summer, I went to Český Krumlov on a family vacation. But what I saw in the city’s streets went far beyond what I could have imagined. The streets were full of tourists, who stood around on every corner and made it impossible to pass. Uninhabited buildings that acted as hotels, bed and breakfasts, or restaurants. Sterile streets, everything under absolute control of the locals, who had moved out of the center. I just stared at it all, trying to remember where I’d seen something like it before. Everything was familiar somehow and yet completely upside-down. Every detail reminded me of something, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I felt absurd – standing in a place that I couldn’t see.

Then it final hit me: the Vietnamese-run convenience store on the corner, the negative attitude toward the place, the locals’ unwillingness to visit the center, the lack of consideration, the impassable streets, the groups of people standing around, the question of safety and security, shops with goods that nobody needs, so many shops with jewelry, the mix of languages. This place is like the BRONX! An exclusion zone! “Daylight robbery!” complained my mother when she saw the prices in one shop window. “Outrageous!” my husband exclaimed when our eight-year-old daughter wanted an overpriced ice cream. “How can anyone live here?!” my mother added, topping things off.

At first glance, it may seem absurd to call downtown Český Krumlov an exclusion zone. But if you ignore the city’s façades, the local relations are laid bare in all their force. And so, I decided to approach the city as an exclusion zone and to use the kind of strategy applied in similar places to change the current situation in Krumlov.

To bring back normal life, visibly expressed on the city’s streets.

To offer the kinds of JOB OPPORTUNITIES that are most needed in the particular locality.

To support families thus employed by offering housing directly in the particular locality. From a detailed analysis of all three points, I realized that the kind of job that is most needed in downtown Krumlov is UNEMPLOYED PARENT or GRANDPARENT – the kind of work in which someone visible engages in normal life activities associated with family life on the city’s streets, and during which they spend time with their children. It is the kind of activity that makes a city a true city, and not just a backdrop for tourists.

Although the project is being primarily realized on the streets of Český Krumlov, the main subject is much more universal, and is closely related to Venice and to the main theme of this year’s biennale: FREESPACE. Venice has been transformed into a backdrop for tourists just as much as Český Krumlov. Every year, the city is deluged by thousands of visitors from all over the world, and locals have begun to retreat – first into their homes, and then out of town. Venice has become an island of tourists. The local atmosphere has been replaced by a tourist atmosphere. Everywhere there are hotels and bed and breakfasts, the town feels exhausted and nearly impassable for locals during the high season. It is a problem faced by many places around the world, where people are beginning to talk about regulating the number of visitors or even charging admission to the historic city center. Selling tickets to a city sounds crazy, because in the end effect a ticket is what turns a city into a real open-air museum. My goal is to influence the streets “from the ground up” by introducing normal life – not “from the top down” by charging admission. The freespace is not on the streets; it is the place in our heads that allows us to act normally regardless of where we are. This at first glance banal definition is almost unrealizable in reality. We learn to follow thousands of rules and punish any transgressions. For me, the streets of Krumlov and Venice are prime examples of the loss of “freespace.” For this reason, I see the subject of FREESPACE in engaging in work that influences the city streets far more than any building.

Production: 2017–2019
Sites: Český Krumlov, Czech Republic; Venice, Italy
Curators: Kateřina Šedá, Hana Jirmusová Lazarowitz
Texts: Kateřina Šedá, Hana Jirmusová Lazarowitz and others
Participants: Věra and Josef Čarkovi, a family from the central Czech Republic, Petra Haviarová and Pavel Vysušil, Petra Semerádová, Jitka Konrádová, Mária and Adam Chvajovi, Lucie and Martin Hyšek, Gabriela Gajdošová, Jana Fleková and Ruda Jurášek, Eva Tichomirová and Adam Rychetský, Petra Lewis, Kateřina Kuchtová, Zdenka and Jan Dudovi, Eva Machová and Jan Tilinger, Eva Bartoňová and David Bartoň, Lucie Bauerová, Petr Holínka, Pavel Klega, Bohumila Mrzenová, Stanislav Mařík, Jitka and Roman Kyselkovi, Marie Vaňková and Miroslav Vaňek, Peter Kocis, Hana Janská and Matěj Janský, Anna Janecká, residents of Český Krumlov and tourists
Drawings: Kateřina Šedá, Julie Klusáková, David Vávra, employees of UNES-CO and residents of the town of Český Krumlov
Visual identity: Kateřina Šedá and Milan Nedvěd
Graphic design: Milan Nedvěd, Mikuláš Macháček, Kristína Drinková
Photography: Roman Franc, Gabriel Frágner, Lubomír Stibůrek, Veronika Brunová, Matouš Bičák, Jakub Máče, Libor Sváček, Kateřina Šedá, employees of UNES-CO
Architectural design of pavilion installation: CCEA MOBA Yvette Vašourková, collaboration: Rachita Saxena, Chirantan Patil, Swapnil Dangri
Production team: Kateřina Šedá, Hana Jirmusová-Lazarowitz and employees of ESAC in Český Krumlov, Adam Budak, Michal Štochl (National Gallery Prague), Lucie Faulerová, Martina Rasch, Petra Lewis, Kateřina Kuchtová, David Ondra, Jan Látal, Matouš Bičák, MarieMagdalena Kochová and others
Collaboration and support: Egon Schiele Art Centrum Český Krumlov, Ministry of Culture of the Czech Republic, National Gallery Prague, the town of Český Krumlov, Franco Soffiantino Contemporary Art
Productions, Czech Television, the Krumlech association, residents of Český Krumlov and others
The project originated within the framework of the representation of the Czech Republic 16th International Architecture Exhibition in Venice.

The Great Identification Contest The first time I found myself at the train station in Budapest I had the feeling it was the same place I’d left 4 hours ago in the Czech Republic. I’d had the same feeling at many places in Budapest and its outskirts. Gray housing projects slowly gaining in color, hypermarkets on the city limits, fences popping up everywhere, the problematic outskirts…
I had the strongest feeling of this sort in Tőrőkbálint, a town located 15 km from Budapest. In 2007 a new quarter of detached houses called Tükőrhegy (Mirror Hill) was added to this traditional village with its old buildings, elevating it to the status of a town. The incongruous, somewhat bizarre colony of detached houses – of a type that often appears on the outskirts of large towns or in a cluster of nearby villages – looked like it had been flown in from somewhere else. The architecture didn’t seem subject to any aesthetic rules, and in this Hungarian town that was especially striking. Almost every house was built in a different style or at least contained elements inspired by foreign architectural sytles (Italian shutters, Greek columns, English windows…). This strangeness made you feel as if you were in a town of FOREIGNERS (and unfortunately the feeling didn’t derive from the architecture alone). During the day you hardly meet anyone; in the morning hours the place would empty out as if someone had waved a wand (most people were leaving to work in the nearby city). There was usually no time for socializing with the locals, so the owners of the turnkey homes often ended up not knowing who their neighbors were or who they might meet up with in the area.
You won’t find any sort of center there, justa grid of indistinguishable interconnecting streets. You’re never particularly inspired to take a walk and after walking past fences and metal gates for an hour you feel like you’re in a prison. The street GRID essentially divides neighbors from each other and instead of seeing the nearest street as a means of connection, they see it as a means of escape.
On 30 October 2010 I organized a contest involving almost 600 families aiming to induce them to get to know each another. A month before the event, each family was given the task of drawing the view from their property outward through an open door or gate without letting any other family see the drawing. All the drawingsthen appeared, unsigned, in a book each family received the day of the contest. The task sounded simple, but it was actually quite complicated: to find, within one day, all the places from which each drawing had been made and write down the artist’s address. The task promised to ensure that the residents would not only see their surroundings, but one another as well – and get to know each other in the process.
From the start, however, I suspected that since people living in such places don’t need to have a detailed knowledge of their immediate surroundings, they would need to be motivated to take part in the activity. So, I decided to make the prize attractive enough that most of the inhabitants would be drawn to the idea. At the same time, however, it would have to be consonant with the process of getting to know a place. Accordingly, I decided to award the winner another, similar experience. The family that won the contest would get a 14-day trip to Florida. (Kateřina Šedá, 2010)

Production: 2010
Site: Törökbálint-Tükörhegy, Hungary
Participants: residents of Tükörhegy, Kateřina Šedá
Drawings: residents of Tükörhegy, Kateřina Šedá
Visual identity and graphic design:  Adam Macháček, Sébastien Bohner (Welcometo.as)
Photography: Michal Hladík
Production team: Kateřina Šedá, Krisztina Szipöcz (Ludwig Múzeum, Budapest), Markéta Venclů, Sarah Franzová, Magyar Gyula, Anna Franciska Kovács, Andrea Balázs, Lillia Csizmadia, Etelka Szabó, Czech Center Budapest: Michal Černý, Robert Gál and others
The project was initiated and supported by Ludwig Múzeum, Budapest (curator – Krisztina Szipöcz), Peter und Irene Ludwig Stiftung and Franco Soffiantino Contemporary Art Productions, Italy

My grandmother Jana (b. 1930) has been a main topic of discussion for our family over the past five years. Despite having led an active life, she decided to become completely inactive upon retirement, though the household that she and my grandfather led would not allow her to fully do this. My grandfather’s death, an obvious blow, became the pretext for a life of complete idleness, which she has devoted herself to with unbelievable diligence. She’ll only get up from her bed for lunch, which my mother brings to her. She doesn’t like to get dressed or wash (she often reminds us that she’s never been fond of water). She doesn’t cook because she doesn’t like how her cooking tastes and doesn’t clean because she claims there’s no mess to clean up. She won’t go for a walk or go shopping simply because she doesn’t feel like it. Her favorite member of the household has become the television, which she is fully capable of watching all week without a break. She only watches Nova [a TV channel] because apparently it’s the button she locates the easiest on the remote control.
“It doesn’t matter.” That’s the answer to most of our questions. And even though she’s healthy and self-sufficient, we’re forced to do absolutely everything for her, including making decisions. Her attitude has resulted in the gradual loss of her friends, as well as our losing interest in talking with her about anything other than her idleness. This is what inspired me to try to get her to do something and thereby also open new discussions for us.
From the very beginning I ruled out all housework as it represents servitude for her. I also saw that she lives more in the past than in the present and so I tried to reach her that way. One of the few things she often recalls is her 33 years of work in a shop. As the head of a tools stock room at a home supplies shop in Brno (1950–1983), she remembers over 650 types of goods, including their prices. This led me to try to reconstruct (at least through pictures) the shop and travel back in time to work. The various types of goods she started to draw under my supervision have thus become the main vehicle for our discussions over the past months. Not only did I manage to find her a meaningful activity, but also, in the meantime, that ominous phrase of hers, which was essentially the reason for the entire project, disappeared. For the first time in ages, she began to receive praise from the entire family and was developing a genuine interest in what she was doing. (Kateřina Šedá, 2010)

Production: 2005–2007
Site: Brno-Líšeň, Czech Republic
Participants: Jana Šedá, Kateřina Šedá
Drawings: Jana Šedá, Kateřina Šedá
Graphic design: Kateřina Šedá
Photography: Kateřina Šedá
Production team: Kateřina Šedá, Hana Šedá
Award: Jindřich Chalupecký Prize 2005

New Líšeň

“I’m from Líšeň,” is my answer to anyone who asks where I’m from. But I never add that Líšeň
is a district on the outskirts of a city; I just let the inquirer think it’s an out-of-the-way village somewhere. Similarly, if you ask people from our high-rise apartment development, New Líšeň, where they’re from, they never admit that’s where they’re from; they’d rather just say “I’m from Brno.” As if the development didn’t exist; as if it were cursed. You’ll never run into tourists here—what would they be looking for?

Please leave the carriage
While the old village ways survive in Old Líšeň (we know each other here, we have a local folk preservation group, we have social functions…), New Líšeň has the character of a tram stop: most of its inhabitants just “get off at their stop” for the night and spend the rest of the day in the city. a childhood experience has stuck in my memory: I was with one of my primary school classmates, walking home with her after school one day. We climbed the hill along Klaj-dovská Street and as soon as the low houses gave way to the first high-rise buildings, people stopped answering when I wished them a good day. It was as if –out of the blue—the high-rises had made me invisible. My friend turned to me, perplexed, and said, “Around here you don’t have to say hello to everyone anymore—only to those you know!” I remember I didn’t quite understand, although I did heed the advice on my way back: I made as if I didn’t see anyone passing by. I later learned from my parents that people don’t say hello in high-rise developments because they don’t know each other. Everyone moves to them from different places and they have nothing in common. That seemed to make good sense, so I stopped worrying about it.

For every dog a different master
But last fall I suddenly noticed that the high-rises had changed significantly. The gray building complex had literally become fragmented beneath coats of bright paint and New Líšeň shone like a splendid attraction. It was result of a project several architects had worked on together called the “Regeneration of High-Rise Housing Developments.” However, none of them took an all-encompassing view of the whole, so the development took on the appearance of a pattern book of buildings, each different from the next. Suddenly, I realized that was precisely the thing that united all the inhabitants, though it hadn’t been visible up to that point: EVERYONE COMES FROM SOMEWHERE DIFFERENT! When I found myself on the other side of town a few days later, the same scene opened up before my eyes. I was looking at the NEW PARADIGM for the housing development.

The new paradigm
The colorful individualization of each building had no effect on people’s behavior, though. They still only said hello to those they knew. That’s why I took it upon myself to find a way to make the MAIN PARADIGM show and thus unite the in habitants of the development, thereby regenerating not only the place, but the relationships in it as well. One of my first ideas came from the following realization: the thing we have in common really reveals itself when we divide it up among ourselves. If I wanted people to unite on the basis of the main paradigm (everyone comes from somewhere different), I had to divide it up among them equitably.

How to make it show?
I decided to create a picture of the development: I got the blueprints for the main types of building and placed them next to one another so as to get as close as I could to making the impression that each came from a different place. It occurred to me then that the only way I was going to be able divide such a thing up equitably was by reproducing it. Because I’d conceived of the “MAIN PARADIGM” as a real picture from the start, I decided to reproduce it on fabric and then sent my design to a textile printer. Then, when I was holding the reproduced image in my hands, I realized that in order for people to understand that it was a PARADIGM, they were going to have to see it among them. I asked myself: When can we see a PARADIGM like that among us? When we wear it! I had 1,000 shirts sewn using the printed fabric—it was that article of clothing that best enabled me to embody the sort of “invisible person” that might be able to unite the development’s inhabitants. (Kateřina Šedá, 2007)

Production: 2007
Sites: Brno-Nová Líšeň, Czech Republic
Participants: Residents of Nova Líšeň, Kateřina Šedá
Drawings: Kateřina Šedá
Graphic design: Kateřina Šedá, Radim Peško
Photography: Kateřina Šedá, Vít Klusák
Shirt production: Ing. arch. Martina Kutnohorská, Ing. arch. David Hoffmann, Martina Kudlíková, Hana Šedá, Brněnská Drutěva production cooperative
Production team: Kateřina Šedá
Initiated and supported by documenta 12, Kassel, Germany, curators – Roger M. Buergel and Ruth Noack; Moravian Gallery in Brno, Atrium 2–07, curator – Yvona Ferencová

If you walk the streets of Los Altos, you’re not guaranteed to run into anyone (except in the city center). No one walks there and on every other street you see a NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH sign, which means, loosely translated: if you see anything suspicious in the area, call the police. In my case, the suspicious activity was walking around. Every day I had to explain to the police that I couldn’t drive a car without a driver’s license and they told me that if there were no sidewalks, then no one wanted me to walk around there.
Without hesitation, the way I’d describe Los Altos in Silicon Valley is “another world.” At first glance, everything is absolutely wonderful – every day it’s all clear skies, the richest people, gorgeous cars, big houses, the best schools, the most promising startups. But as a matter of fact, none of that surprised me. I knew the context and second glances always give you a different view. All you’d have to do was ask a local about a problem to unleash a complaint-filled monologue. But it turned out making any sort of contact with the locals was a problem in itself. At first, I had to use a “relay” method, which involved making contact a person based solely on recommendations; the person would then send me off somewhere else … or not. It was quite a laborious process, but was probably the only way under the circumstances. Questions about problems were usually met with an expression of surprise followed by deafening silence; then, after reflecting for a while, the answer would always be the same: “I don’t know, everything is great.”
Two key things I found out during the interviews with the locals were that everything really was great in Los Altos and that success was a key measure there. The title “best” is usually earned there based on a shared model of education (the high school and university education there is reportedly among the best in the US), so naturally everyone is successful. The best education, the best houses, the best cars–a template-based success.
Gradually, I realized that, ironically, the concentration of all those bests in one place made them rather run-of-the-mill in the end. That’s why I wondered how I might turn the principle around and showcase each person’s individuality by measuring normal things. I approached the place as most people perceive it – as a bubble, a closed-off world of all the best. Following the example of the Guinness World Records, I decided to create a Los Altos record book to showcase the uniqueness of each resident on the basis of ordinary things. I opened a LOS ALTOS WORLD RECORDS 2014 office in the city center and announced a contest encompassing the same fields as can be found in the Guinness World Records. In addition, I augmented my contest with a category of non-measurable records, which also became very popular.
At first they didn’t understand my intention and thought I was just looking for real world record holders who live in Los Altos. That changed, however, when the mayor of Los Altos entered the contest in the YOUNGEST MAYOR OF LOS ALTOS category, which he won right away, logically enough. After that, people came up with dozens of different records, but they all had one thing in common – they were conceived so those who proposed them would win straight away. There was no competition in any category the whole time and the best would all be able to remain the best.
I conceived the book of records along with graphic designer Adam Macháček as the smallest book in Los Altos and we supplied each copy with an original cover referring to a specific record. The award ceremony, attended by the record holders and the public at large, was held at the local museum and for many it was the first time they had ever met in person. (Kateřina Šedá, 2014)

Production: 2014
Site: Los Altos, United States
Participants: Residents of Los Altos, Kateřina Šedá
Drawings: Kateřina Šedá, Adam Macháček
Photography: Kateřina Šedá, Adam Macháček, Michal Hladík, David Ondra, Ellie Van Houtte and residents of Los Altos
Visual identity and graphic design: Adam Macháček
Production team: Kateřina Šedá, David Ondra, Adam Macháček, SF MOMA
Initiated and supported by the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art (SF MOMA) within the framework of a non-traditional exhibition titled Project Los Altos: SF MOMA in Silicon Valley.
Award: Most Beautiful Czech Book of the Year 2014, category – catalogue