Fermenting Femme, the lady of culture
Body Boundaries, 2025
Through my work, I’ve come to recognize how often I personify my materials. This impulse—perhaps a strategy of understanding—deepens my empathy, not only for the artwork as object, but as an extension of self, and by extension, of shared humanity. I’m learning that the divide between human and non-human perspectives is more porous than I once thought. Is my personification of SCOBY rooted in a human-centric view? To me, humanity begins with acts of care and empathy. But can it also reflect a non-human logic? Yes. SCOBY survives—and thrives—without human intervention.
This piece explores the thresholds between bodies and environments—between the individual and collective body, and between interior and exterior states. The body is both a site of transformation and a transformative agent. It is porous, vulnerable, and in constant negotiation with social expectations.
This work invites questions of power, control, and intimacy—of how freedoms are structured around the body. Who is permitted to test limits, to expand, to touch or be touched? As SCOBY continues to grow in the gallery, its scent infuses the air, its presence blurs boundaries between artwork and audience. The body, the art, and the viewer become enmeshed. The space becomes alive.
SCOBY—an acronym for Symbiotic Culture of Bacteria and Yeast—is formed during the fermentation of sweetened tea. Over time, the yeast breaks down sugars, producing alcohol, which the bacteria then convert into acids. This mutualistic relationship results in a gelatinous biofilm that continues to grow layer by layer, forming a living skin. It is both membrane and archive.
Our bodies, too, are in constant states of sensing, receiving, storing, and responding. The smells, tastes, and sounds of a moment can become memory’s architecture. In that way, healing—like fermentation—is not linear, but cyclical. It is a slow, often unseen process of metabolizing the world.
This work reaches toward what has been silenced, stitching together what was lost with new meaning. It’s a gesture of care—toward what’s been forgotten, and toward the possibility of repair.
Through my work, I’ve come to recognize how often I personify my materials. This impulse—perhaps a strategy of understanding—deepens my empathy, not only for the artwork as object, but as an extension of self, and by extension, of shared humanity. I’m learning that the divide between human and non-human perspectives is more porous than I once thought. Is my personification of SCOBY rooted in a human-centric view? To me, humanity begins with acts of care and empathy. But can it also reflect a non-human logic? Yes. SCOBY survives—and thrives—without human intervention.
This piece explores the thresholds between bodies and environments—between the individual and collective body, and between interior and exterior states. The body is both a site of transformation and a transformative agent. It is porous, vulnerable, and in constant negotiation with social expectations.
This work invites questions of power, control, and intimacy—of how freedoms are structured around the body. Who is permitted to test limits, to expand, to touch or be touched? As SCOBY continues to grow in the gallery, its scent infuses the air, its presence blurs boundaries between artwork and audience. The body, the art, and the viewer become enmeshed. The space becomes alive.
SCOBY—an acronym for Symbiotic Culture of Bacteria and Yeast—is formed during the fermentation of sweetened tea. Over time, the yeast breaks down sugars, producing alcohol, which the bacteria then convert into acids. This mutualistic relationship results in a gelatinous biofilm that continues to grow layer by layer, forming a living skin. It is both membrane and archive.
Our bodies, too, are in constant states of sensing, receiving, storing, and responding. The smells, tastes, and sounds of a moment can become memory’s architecture. In that way, healing—like fermentation—is not linear, but cyclical. It is a slow, often unseen process of metabolizing the world.
This work reaches toward what has been silenced, stitching together what was lost with new meaning. It’s a gesture of care—toward what’s been forgotten, and toward the possibility of repair.