The Transaction type: People.
These small, faceless figures—stripped of identity yet swollen with narrative—are my secret army of selves. Sculpted by disease and isolation, each statuette documents a violent episode of muscle spasms that has fractured my life since 2012. Their quantity is clinical: the number corresponds to my monthly attacks. Their poses are confessional.
The work began when an attack in a university classroom turned me into a pariah. Within weeks, I lost my education, relationships, and place in society. Rehabilitation became cyclical; disappearance, necessary. These figures are what remains when the body betrays itself—and the world abandons you for it.
I photograph them as a collector would: tiny, distorted bodies arranged like medical specimens. Their hands often give them away, contorted in ways only those hiding neurological disorders recognize. Some models are mannequins; others are fellow outcasts who’ve learned to twist their limbs into socially acceptable shapes by day, then collapse into private truths at night.
This is not a metaphor. It is ledger-keeping. Each image documents the cost of passing as “normal” when your nervous system wages war against the performance. The compositions appear still, but their stillness is a lie—like the frozen smile I wear during attacks, or the way relatives suddenly study their shoes when my fingers curl involuntarily.
What you see are trophies from a life spent oscillating between rehabilitation and concealment. The collection grows.
