My work explores the relationship between consumerist fetishism and vegetarian ethics.

With influences as diverse as Camus and Frida Kahlo, new variations are distilled from both simple and complex textures.

Ever since I was a student I have been fascinated by the endless oscillation of meaning. What starts out as contemplation soon becomes finessed into a tragedy of power, leaving only a sense of unreality and the prospect of a new synthesis.

As shifting phenomena become frozen through emergent and critical practice, the viewer is left with an epitaph for the possibilities of our future.

When the art world talks about its transformations over recent decades, it talks about the spread of biennials. Those who have tried to account for contemporary art’s peculiar nonlocal language tend to see it as the Esperanto of this fantastically mobile and glamorous world, as a rational consensus arrived at for the sake of better coordination. But that is not quite right. Of course, if you’re curating an exhibition that brings art made in twenty countries to Dakar or Sharjah, it’s helpful for the artists, interns, gallerists, and publicists to be communicating in a common language. But convenience can’t account for IAE. Our guess is that people all over the world have adopted this language because the distributive capacities of the Internet now allow them to believe—or to hope—that their writing will reach an international audience. We can reasonably assume that most communication about art today still involves people who share a first language: artists and fabricators, local journalists and readers. But when an art student in Skopje announces her thesis show, chances are she’ll email out the invite in IAE. Because, hey—you never know.