iRevival
Death, Memory, and the Body

At the heart of the developing exhibition is a deep inquiry into death—what follows it, and what becomes of the body left behind. When we look at a prehistoric fossil, we often perceive it as a scientific artifact, a vessel of memory devoid of emotional resonance. In contrast, encountering the remains of a contemporary animal brings death closer—more immediate and personal. It prompts questions: What does the body mean after life ends? What value do we assign to it? And what does our treatment of the dead reveal about us?

A central aim in the creation of this body of work is to simulate a kind of instant fossilization—to transform the bodies of dead animals into objects that visually recall ancient relics. This process involves stripping the body of its flesh and soul—both literally and metaphorically. The work is rooted in a personal and philosophical exploration of boundaries: from the instinctive fear and discomfort around death, to a shift in perception—one that views the lifeless form through an aesthetic and reflective lens.

A deeply personal moment shaped the direction of this process: the death of Osho, my dog and companion of 16 years, during the early stages of this work. Witnessing his final breath marked a turning point in how I relate to the body after death. In that moment, what remained was not “him,” but a vessel—silent, still, and suddenly part of the material I was already working with.

The animals used in this ongoing series all died natural deaths, without human intervention. In the studio, their bodies are subjected to a firing process at 1230°C—far higher than standard cremation temperatures (which typically range from 870°C to 980°C). This intense heat preserves the calcium in the bones, preventing disintegration and instead producing a porcelain-like material with subtle translucency and structural depth.

Chemical reactions within the raw material create unexpected colorations—blue, gray, orange, green—alongside the stark, luminous white of bone. The skeleton, as a mechanical framework and visual memory, takes on a new role: a point of confrontation for both the artist and viewer with the most profound and universal human experiences—death, loss, and remembrance.

As the work continues to evolve, memory is shaping itself on the surface—through a mixture of hyper-realistic renderings and surreal, macabre transformations. It is not only a meditation on what remains after life, but also a slow unfolding of what art can become when death is treated not as an end, but as material.