Rooted in the idea that all beings and things are materially connected, Everything has been said, not done examines how our current reality settings — metaphysical assumptions about what is real, meaningful and possible — shape our world views and limit our imagination. Drawing on Federico Campagna’s critique of an ‘absolute language’ that frames reality through a technocentric lens, the piece questions how language, culture, and media condition anthropocentric perspectives.

The work considers the impact of short-form video content as both a reflection of cultural values and a tool of escapism that fragments attention and thought. Through an essayistic, split-screen collage of found footage from various social media platforms as well as original footage, it looks at how we engage with a world in crisis, and whether algorithm-driven content can be re-imagined to foster empathy and to envision alternative futures. Recognising energy as unfixed potential, Everything has been said, not done invites viewers into a reflective space where empathy becomes a mode of attention, leaning into the idea that how we imagine reality might be the first step toward healing it.

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Content Advisory: This video installation contains footage that some viewers may find disturbing. Viewer discretion is advised.

A full list of sourced material is available for consultation here.

This bench stands in relation to the film There was a Never, there was a Yes (2023), which is based on the orginal poem Venus transit (2022). Decorated with symbols featured in both the film and poem, the bench structurally resembles those set along the river in Mainz, where it was first exhibited. While existing in relation to the film, the bench stands as an independent piece. As such it challenges traditional notions of what is considered monumental. It remains undecided in its role - whether it seeks to claim the status of a cultural memorial or to exist as a quieter element of public architecture.

When shown together, it creates a bridge between the viewer and the film, connecting the audience to the world of its words and imagery. Experiencing each work through touch fosters an intimacy between the artwork, the viewer, and what lies beyond the context of an exhibition.

In the film, the figure of a fish-human stands as a metaphor for both the genealogy of the universe and that of the artist. We follow the journey of a ceramic fish as it passes from one hand to the next, from place to place, from one time to another. Along the way, we encounter grandmothers, mothers, and daughters, moving through a poem about the past, present, and future of human and more-than-human inhabitants of the planet. Shifting between lines of individual genealogy and cosmic creation, the work reflects on how constellations of relationality take shape across time. Separate yet interconnected narratives converge to contemplate history and ecology, fish and mothers, spaceships and the sea.

Venus transit (herald) is an installation, poem, film, it is a cut section into the infinite layers of the universe and us. Wip whip smack! Smack it is fast and full energy like an explosion, yet the Venus transit is also galactically slow, things take time to become, to spread, to reshape from dust. In this forming moment nothing should cater to our assumptions.... The floor is soft; the fishes, emerging from holes in the panneled ceiling, quietly sing to you a comforting song. But you have to get close.

This an installation I presented as part of the Master’s expo of Sint Lucas, Antwerpen, which was held in an empty old school building. As part of this work, a poster edition was shown during the Onboards Biennale Antwerp 2023.

This installation stages the table as a site of collective memory, love, and shared becoming. Formed from soil and earth, the table takes shape through a gesture of laying the table and gathering. Over time, white fungal growth begins to emerge across its surface, turning the sculpture into a living ground in which decomposition and regeneration unfold. Drawing on food as a carrier of memory and relation, even in absence, the work holds traces of those who have gathered, eaten, and spoken there before. Between individual and collective remembrance, it opens a suspended space where connection is not fixed but continually formed, inviting viewers to enter a quiet, porous field of togetherness.