As a child, I looked forward to becoming a grandmother. I imagined that I would finally be free of the pressure to be the right kind of person, to meet the expectations of beauty, hetero-romantic love, proper emotions, and socially approved ambition. I would finally have peace — the freedom to live by my own design, with plenty of time.
But then came the stories. Accounts of domestic violence passed down through generations of women in my family, my friends' families, and their friends' families.
Quietly, a hum of fear and helpless anger began to build inside me.
Then there were the lifelong confessions of dissatisfaction with one's own body — from my mother, my grandmother, my aunt. Bodies that sag, pale, darken, shift, spill over, fail to conform.
Inside me, a hissing fear. A bubbling sense of helplessness.
The symbolism I use in audiovisual language emerges from my knowledge and experience of the world, and from the meanings that have inscribed themselves into my subconscious over twenty-seven years of life in Central Europe. Many of these symbols are entangled in layers of meaning built and accumulated over millennia. My role — not only as an artist but also as a feminist — is to search for them, discover where they hide, and try to playfully deconstruct them, reclaim them through my interpretation.