3. CUT
Kunstsammlungen der Ruhe-Universität Bochum
28.Januar 2026 - 17.Mai 2026
Digital print from analog film developed with korean kelp
Picking at my skin is an old habit of mine. It began when I was very young, before I was even aware that it was a habit.
Whenever I concentrate on something, when I feel unstable, when I sit and read a book—always, I pick at my skin. Wherever I’ve been, small pieces of my skin are left behind. They range from tiny grains to slightly larger fragments. I leave parts of myself in the
places where I stay.
The spots where the skin has been torn away sometimes reveal soft pink flesh, sometimes begin to bleed, and sometimes leave behind a dangling piece that hasn’t fully come off. My hands are like my shame. When I show my hands to someone, I often try to hide them.
No matter how much I pick, new skin always grows back. At night my fingers may be torn up, but by the next morning I wake to find them ever so slightly smoothed over. I take
myself apart, I create my own shame, and my body heals itself.
I tried not to destroy anything, yet I destroy myself. Someone once called this habit a form of self-harm. Above all, more than anyone else, I am the one who harms myself. What are you destroying? The tattered corner of a book, hands dried from washing too often, a window frame rusted from being left alone too long, bleeding lips, the long horizontal scars on your back from growing pains.
I float our violences on water, in the most non-violent way.