Opposition confronts Berlin’s Mice Bunker, a Brutalist icon stripped of its original function, with the sterile gaze of a surveillance camera. Projecting ventilation ducts give the building a defensive, almost weapon-like presence. The image becomes a struggle over identity: a once-purposeful architectural organism resisting reduction to ruin, relic or...
And just as I love to look down upon everything from above, something within tells me that something from the outside— from somewhere higher still—is looking back at me. And that is my other self. An other self that seems to have transcended even me; something between me and...
The self that gazes at me moves me this way and that— like a child, like a puppet in a show, or even like the living dead. It is as if I am not walking; it is *it* that moves me. It leads me where *it* goes— along the...
Sometimes I feel as though I have no head. I do not even see my reflection in glass, in a mirror, or—like in this very image—in the television screen. It is as if there is a body that moves on its own, that goes about its business on its...
Water as a Scriptor: Citrinitas explores how condensation, droplets and translucent surfaces transform the visible world into unstable inscriptions. Architecture, snail trails and light dissolve behind wet glass, re-emerging as painterly traces, grids and luminous signs. Water becomes an active author, rewriting familiar forms through refraction, erosion and chance,...
The only thing I recall about people is that they have a head, two arms, and two legs. Yet, the image I perceive of people does not always resemble photographs or films. It is not that I wish to present a different view of the world to you; the...
And all these secrets, all these questions, have frozen within me. Within this very statue that now stands before the camera and gazes into it. It is as if everything I could not say, all the people who lived inside me, all the “selves”—of which I do not know...
This image is me. But I don’t have a clear enough image to prove it to you. You cannot tell from this picture that it is me; yet, it is me. Everything you see in this image is a part of me. The problem is, I cannot prove this...
If my head cast a shadow, perhaps a thousand other heads would emerge within it; a thousand heads that spoke, thought, and gnawed at my brain. I do not know whether having a head—or not having one— truly makes a difference. If I were to have no head, would...
I love heights. I love looking down at everything from above, because I know a sparrow can look down at me. Viewing things from above doesn’t make them smaller; it doesn’t make them less valuable. It simply teaches you how to gain a sense of mastery over what lies...