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LAMB
Lamb is a two-part film series that unfolds across seasons, one shot in the height of summer, the other in the stillness of winter. At the end of Lamb: Summer, the lamb’s head was ceremonially buried beneath the sand by the sea, left to decay for six months before being exhumed to film Lamb: Winter. This act of burial and unearthing becomes a natural collaboration: time, rot, and the earth itself contribute to the film’s evolution.
The series is grounded in a philosophy of non-anthropocentrism, a reversal of human-centered value systems. It refuses to place humanity above the natural world, instead acknowledging an ecocentric reality where all entities, flesh, sand, salt, and decay possess intrinsic worth. Through this lens, Lamb dismantles hierarchy: the human is no longer the protagonist, but an equal participant in the cycle of transformation.
The anti-humanist approach treats humankind not as the orchestrator of meaning, but as material alongside animal, soil, and sky. The human and humanoid antagonists in the films are necessary presences, yet they serve primarily as conduits through which the animal imagery exerts power. The lamb, recurring and dismembered, embodies both victim and relic, its form oscillating between ritual object and abject spectacle.
A traditional comfort food like shepherd’s pie mutates into a lamb’s head on a platter, familiar yet revolting. Through this inversion, the films explore how easily the ordinary collapses into the grotesque. What was once domestic becomes uncanny; what was once appetising becomes mournful.
The air is thin,
Red and white surround us in soft fabrics.
We sit gossiping like telephone wires.
Me and you.
Under a stormy sky, which you see as blue.
My skin, under white light,
reveals gashes from a brush.
You are kind to me,
yet your iris stains my freshly washed clothes.
I blame you, for only you can control your gaze.
My soul sinks as you tell me,
"When you bite into a heart, It tastes like nothing".
With shaky hands, I hold a jar.
Red and white, once again.
You hear metal dance against glass,
terrified movements from inside.
When the contradictory colours are lifted.
You say,
"We can’t eat that, it’s spoiled!"
But it doesn't matter anymore.
I pick and pick at the scab.
Once a cut that I wish revealed bone.
The only thing left of our brief encounter,
hoping it’ll scar.

