This project began with a process, not a story. Molten wax, thrown into cold water. The wax is liquid, unpredictable, alive with possibility for a fraction of a second — and then the water seizes it into a fixed, final shape. No two throws produce the same form. The shape is not designed. It is decided, in an instant, by contact with something colder and harder than itself.
A female eye is sculpted and added into the wax before the cold water fixes it. It freezes into the form along with everything chance produced around it — deliberate and accidental, seized by the same water in the same instant.
That combined form is then cast inside a block of a custom stone-like mixture — a second, harder body built around the first. Boiling water then melts the wax back out. It doesn't distinguish between what was sculpted and what was undesigned; it dissolves all of it equally. What survives is not the wax, not the eye, not the erosion — only the void they leave behind, a negative space that still carries her shape, made entirely of what's no longer there.
This became the project's central inversion. Medusa's gaze is usually described as a presence — a force projected outward, dangerous because it acts on you. Here, it is something closer to a trace: she puts the gaze into the material herself, deliberately, before it's taken from her — frozen first, then dissolved, exactly like everything around it. Nothing is exempted. What remains isn't the eye. It's the shape of where it used to be.
Six sculptures were cast this way, each one unrepeatable — the same process, six different outcomes, the material shifting across the series from white to black. Each was scanned and placed into a corresponding digital environment, one cube per chapter of a six-part sequence tracing Medusa's myth from origin to death to transformation into symbol. The physical sculptures themselves were not publicly exhibited. On occasion, they are carried somewhere and shown to a small, chosen few, or to no one at all. Beyond such moments, they remain unseen. Like Medusa's own image, they exist for most viewers only at a remove — through the scan, through the screen, never directly. What the viewer is given is the trace, not the source.
The digital works are deliberately restrained. There is no face, no figure, no literal imagery of the myth — only a cube, a void, and the light, camera, and environment moving around it. The reference point here is Pak's Narcissus, a work that tells its entire story through a single mirror, withholding the figure and trusting the mechanism to carry the meaning. This project takes the same position: the object does not perform the myth. It is the residue of an event the viewer is left to reconstruct — the same way the void on each cube's face is the residue of a form that is no longer there.
The Six
I. Genesis of Medusa — Water made her; water curses her.
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II. The Curse of Medusa — Water hardens; she becomes the rock she's given to.
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III. Exile of Medusa — Even the fog cannot make her disappear.
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IV. The Hunt of Medusa — Nothing here agrees with her — she is the one thing the dark won't take.
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V. Petrification of Medusa — She looks away; the stone falls on someone else.
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VI. Apotheosis of Medusa — Death becomes symbol; the singular becomes shared.
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Six frozen instants, one pose held across all of them — partway inside the ground beneath it, without a mark to show how it got there. No crack, no disturbance, no sign of impact or settling — simply present, as if it never needed to arrive at all. Each cube is claimed by its environment, chapter after chapter — until finally the ground disappears entirely and, for the only time in the sequence, she is not held by anything at all. What never changes is that she is always partly given over to whatever she rests in, permanently — until the one moment nothing is left to hold her, and she is finally free of the ground that claimed her the rest of the way through.