#robotladyart

For five mornings, during my walk to work, I stopped occasionally to pull ridiculous faces at my phone.

Then I stitched them together, added a thoroughly irresponsible amount of visual effects, and made a soundtrack inspired by a certain song about working life.

Conclusion: The morning commute has side effects. 🌲⚡😈🎵

A political statement disguised as folklore.

The skeletons keep pouring.

The water stays green.

I’ve been thinking about the environmental cost of AI. Fair enough. I also paint with acrylics, rinse brushes in water, stream films, store photos in the cloud, and buy art materials shipped from all over the world. I don’t drive and I’ve never had biological children, but none of us lives outside these systems.

Making things leaves a trace.

So does living.

🦴💙💚🦭🦅🤖🌿

Still Watching

Acrylic on canvas

40.6 × 86.4 cm

2026

A lone figure stands in rising water, absorbed in a screen while the world burns and collapses around them. The work explores distraction, denial, and the quiet persistence of attention, even at the edge of disaster.

Trauma Baiter

He thought spilling guts would bind me, that spectacle could pass for love.

But I am not your archive. I am not your nurse. I am not your fucking confessional booth.

I burned the script. I drew the omen.

Circuits bleed roots. Vultures circle. Oranges rot sweet in the mud.

This is what you made of me—

⚔️ live by the sword. die by the sword.

Rust-hearted prophets whisper into broken mics while the night sharpens its teeth.

The watcher in the branches already knows: every empire ends in its own echo.

🩸 words can bleed as deep as steel.

The day job as theatre of cruelty.

The admin desk as a stage for exploitation: chained bodies (and robots), typewriters that become gravestones, owls and crows as auditors of our fatigue.

This video work collapses the language of the office, the graveyard, and the dance track. A beat-driven rhythm samples the absurd — two men passing on the street — and turns it into a soundscape of labour alienated from itself.

The absurdity is the point. Capitalism already looks like spectacle, ritual, occult performance. The boss is the high priest, the worker the sacrifice.

By turning this into imagery and sound, I want to hold a mirror to that spectacle — to reveal its surreal, mystical core — and in doing so, gesture toward refusal, resistance, protection.

Robots. Cemeteries. Admin chains. Owls. Sigils.