Ram Biting Its Own Horn
Some bodies can mutate more than others. They divide into parts. Stretch beyond the limits of their skin. Completely deconstruct their own biome.
Some bodies carry a shadow sewn into their flesh. You can see they are not whole. You can see they are built of scarred tissue. You can see how traumas, chemicals, and technology pierce through them. These bodies love to intertwine with others. They proudly expose the empty spaces where heads once were. They dwell in disobedience, reject hierarchies, suspend rules, search for a new grammar, and arrange themselves into private poems without linearity or end.
The ram’s teeth begin to embrace its own limbs. It gnaws itself, piece by piece. Chews itself. Its contours shift. Yet within a single body, all limbs remain. It grows more primal. It retreats into an ancient ritual. It offers itself in sacrifice, only to resurrect itself anew. To awaken new relations within its own flesh. To stir the quiet connections that give a sense of safety. Sometimes it folds back into embryonicness. Then its form simplifies. A bitten-off horn replaces an imagined thumb.
It mutates endlessly, building and collapsing simultaneously. When it attempts to name what escapes language, new configurations emerge. Yet they remain contained within the same cycle.
RAM BITING ITS OWN HORN (2025). RECYCLED COTTON, ACRYLIC AND POLYESTER, LATEX, METAL, PINE WOOD, OAK WOOD, MARBLE. 195 CM X 53 CM X 52 CM. Photo: Klara Woźniak.
RAM BITING ITS OWN HORN (2025). RECYCLED COTTON, ACRYLIC AND POLYESTER, LATEX, METAL, PINE WOOD, OAK WOOD, MARBLE. 195 CM X 53 CM X 52 CM. Photo: Klara Woźniak.
Ram Biting Its Own Horn
Some bodies can mutate more than others. They divide into parts. Stretch beyond the limits of their skin. Completely deconstruct their own biome.
Some bodies carry a shadow sewn into their flesh. You can see they are not whole. You can see they are built of scarred tissue. You can see how traumas, chemicals, and technology pierce through them. These bodies love to intertwine with others. They proudly expose the empty spaces where heads once were. They dwell in disobedience, reject hierarchies, suspend rules, search for a new grammar, and arrange themselves into private poems without linearity or end.
The ram’s teeth begin to embrace its own limbs. It gnaws itself, piece by piece. Chews itself. Its contours shift. Yet within a single body, all limbs remain. It grows more primal. It retreats into an ancient ritual. It offers itself in sacrifice, only to resurrect itself anew. To awaken new relations within its own flesh. To stir the quiet connections that give a sense of safety. Sometimes it folds back into embryonicness. Then its form simplifies. A bitten-off horn replaces an imagined thumb.
It mutates endlessly, building and collapsing simultaneously. When it attempts to name what escapes language, new configurations emerge. Yet they remain contained within the same cycle.
RAM BITING ITS OWN HORN (2025). RECYCLED COTTON, ACRYLIC AND POLYESTER, LATEX, METAL, PINE WOOD, OAK WOOD, MARBLE. 195 CM X 53 CM X 52 CM. Photo: Klara Woźniak.
RAM BITING ITS OWN HORN (2025). RECYCLED COTTON, ACRYLIC AND POLYESTER, LATEX, METAL, PINE WOOD, OAK WOOD, MARBLE. 195 CM X 53 CM X 52 CM. Photo: Klara Woźniak.
RAM BITING ITS OWN HORN (2025). RECYCLED COTTON, ACRYLIC AND POLYESTER, LATEX, METAL, PINE WOOD, OAK WOOD, MARBLE. 195 CM X 53 CM X 52 CM. Photo: Klara Woźniak.