The work in Lena Knilli's solo exhibition "In Den Hausern/In These Houses" at Hunt Kastner Artworks has a tangible buoyancy — both physical and spiritual. Knilli, a Viennese artist who lived in Prague in the 1990s, describes her recent paintings as portraits of objects, "not of the outer appearance, but of the area that they take up. ... I am showing not the surface, or material, but more of the imprint of the object in space."

One wall in the gallery is covered with two rows of tall lemon-yellow paintings, the layout itself reminiscent of the windows up and down the street outside. Each picture depicts a single, familiar domestic object outlined in silhouette, or sketched in terms of its most basic structure. Three-dimensional objects are rendered two-dimensionally, yet have palpable volume as they float against their luminous background, sometimes seeming to bounce in space.

"I was thinking about how the gallery is located on the street, among all the houses and people, and I tried to reflect and consider that, incorporating the idea of the lives behind the windows, the objects and the energies of interior spaces in the houses," Knilli says.

Each object is some kind of container or definer of space: a rubbish bin, a tent, a cupboard, a chair, an open door. "These aren't just random objects," Knilli explains. "They are all functional objects, and things that convey some certain atmosphere or memory for me. That is a real door in my house. That is my chair from my old apartment. These are objects that I have known for a long time."

The empty background against which the shapes are set removes them from a literal time/space context, so that they are laid open to interpretation and association. "These are containers for living, also for trash, for junk, for my memories and your memories," she says.

Rich references can be gleaned from the apparently simple, ghostly profiles. One cabinet stands out among the modest and functional 20th-century forms with a note of grandeur: Its carved legs and rippling bowed front suggest a note of imperialism, and make a nod to Viennese privilege. The archetypal outline of a small pitched tent, says Knilli, "also refers to security, to shelter — which is temporary — and it represents not only a living space, but also our stay on this Earth."

This spiritual undertone is present throughout the exhibition, suffusing it with a sense of timelessness, depth and strength. Knilli has practiced Tai Chi for many years, and her images show a real understanding and expression of the inner space and suspension that the discipline teaches.

Figures appear in some works, including two superb images of a woman and an old man (the artist and her father). These two people are seated, in separate frames, facing each other as though in conversation. Their silhouettes are cut out from glowing, light-green paper; each image also contains a single yellow shape that floats near the figure like a thought, a wish or a gift from one to the other. The girl's is a chaotic, exuberant shape that seems to move in various directions. The old man has a crisp, neat circle that matches his kindly and focused bearing. The colors surge with positive energy, and the outlines of the figures capture posture and gesture with touching, lifelike detail.

Knilli says she tries to express "what you feel but do not see in a person, the atmosphere, the notion of a person, that is contained within them."

A translucent paper collage mounted on the gallery window shows a little girl with extended hands, asking for something, while inside the pocket of her skirt a tiny figure stands proud and alert. Like Vassalisa in the Russian folk tale, where the heroine is protected by a doll in her pocket, this child seems able to meet the world with both humility and valor.

A second window piece shows the same girl with a chair floating in front of her chest, which seems strangely natural. Circles of cutout paper float around the figures, some tracing a pathway through the solar plexus, evoking feelings of fluidity, openness and confidence.

Four large collages/drawings, made from sparse and sensitive layering of paper and line drawings, also show strange relationships to objects: a figure floating asleep above a desk, chair and a clock; a child with closed eyes and open hands above a large open book, with flowers emanating like a sunburst from her chest.