I think about my death more than I should. I have been overly morbid for as long as I can remember – fascinated with decay, the end of life, and the cycle of growth, rot and regeneration present in nature. While this first presented itself in my work as an interest in botany and ephemeral art, my practice radically changed during the pandemic, along with my political beliefs and the world around me. Instead of focusing on the fleeting nature of life, this body of work studies the chaotic nature of death, and attempts to visualise how the technological breakdown that will come after the end of our species may look – and feel.
Think of the world in a distant future, a hundred years after our extinction. The information we left behind – signs, buildings, books, objects – is decaying. Any evidence of language and culture becomes fragmented and unrecognisable as the earth reclaims its materials. We are being erased.
I imagine this erasure to be loud. Loud in the way that panic is loud; in the way that silence is loud. I want to capture that loudness in my work by creating designs that are both familiar and unfamiliar, known and unknown – images that move from legible to chaotic and language that shifts from english to gibberish in a way that almost makes sense, but not quite. As if I have visited a post-human world and tried to reassemble an image from the rubble.
invading space
Disrupting the typical gallery space with work that visitors are encouraged to walk across, touch and embed themselves in creates an interactive experience where viewers participate in the destruction of the artwork. A permanent installation would, over time, become chipped, scuffed and clouded with dust from being touched and walked on. However, it was only intended to be temporary – it was made to be viewed and then painted over. Either way, ‘lost in translation’ was created with full knowledge of its fate.
Learn how to say goodbye while you still can – everything ends eventually.