



Set against a pulsating field of concentric crimson, the zebra stands like a living diagram—its skin rendered almost clinical, its skeleton and luminous organs exposed as if the body were a transparent archive of instinct and endurance. The ornamental chair, improbably tufted with a square of grass, reads as a domestic altar to “nature,” a curated substitute that mirrors the animal’s own display as specimen, trophy, and being. Between the two, the measured band of blue tiles becomes a quiet threshold: a border where the wild is disciplined into design, and where vitality is both celebrated and dissected. The work’s surreal precision turns looking into an ethical act, asking whether our desire to understand life is ever separable from the urge to possess it.







