Untitled (my first experience of grief is a dead rat), 2025
Not a dead bird, coffee grounds, various found objects, Bicycle wheel.
Rethinking the urn not as a vessel, but a gesture. An urn not as a container of remains, but the action and labour of burial and grief. Cupped hands clawing at damp soil, dirt under finger nails and knees stained with grass. In the past year i’ve had to dig three graves. This was the first time I had experienced the death of something I cared about, even though it was three rats. Holding their cold and stiff bodies in my cupped hands, whispering my good-bye’s and thank-you’s into their blood stained faces before laying them to rest in a cradle of earth, an ordeal I had repeated three times over.
Dedicated to: Marcel Duchamp, Hydraulic Press and Eggy Emilia Eggbert. (The names of my three rats.)
Shown at Love Death and What Remains at Backspace, Curated by Linnea Long