Your Phone Was Always a Nerve Ending

I wanted to show that the face, the hand, and the device were never separate—only observed from different planes. I split them into drifting shards and bound them with cold, mirror-edged prisms that refract warm terracotta and aged gold into impossible folds, so the viewer feels the ecstatic vertigo of a boundary dissolving. Here the “tool” behaves like a reflex: light sutures skin to signal, and in one palimpsest of touch the past, the press, and the scar overwrite each other until the question of human or machine evaporates.