Social ANtisocial Life
Social Antisocial Life examines how people learn to belong, protect themselves, judge one another and seek intimacy inside a social world whose rules are never as natural as they appear. Through psychology, social observation and spirituality, Anastasia Shik turns the body into a site where attachment, fear, conformity, awareness and compassion become visible.
Humanity resides on this massive and vibrant planet. Our knowledge of the universe remains
limited. The underground world remains largely uncharted territory. Furthermore, it is essential
that we share the gifts we have been given with other organisms, flora, and people.
I personally find it exceedingly difficult to grasp the intricacies of how society functions or
ought to function. I feel like I’m an outcast. How are we structured? What motivates us? What
goes that wrong if we still suffer and fight, and kill, and hurt? Can we truly be confident in our
confidence? We are so unsure that we can’t even decide on what we should eat. Are you?
Certain people claim to have the knowledge of our ideal appearance. I admire their confidence!
What do you feel? Are you sure?
Two figures sit amid fruit, food and abundant vegetation, yet the scene refuses the ease promised by the word “picnic.” One holds a glossy magazine displaying another idealised body, inserting an image of social comparison directly into an otherwise intimate encounter.
Shik turns leisure into a study of status, comparison and learned ideals. Social psychology shows that self-evaluation rarely occurs in isolation; people continually measure appearance, success and desirability against others. The magazine therefore acts almost like a third participant. Even in apparent freedom, an external standard has entered the relationship.
Yet the mythology is almost beside the point: the scale and physicality of the woman confront the viewer before the story can.
Leda is about judgment. The woman is visibly large, and Shik knows that many viewers will register her body before they register the beauty of the image, the landscape or the mythological reference. The work exposes how quickly social judgment can erase everything else. The viewer may think they are looking at Leda, but first they are looking at their own conditioning.
This is much stronger than making the work mainly about myth.
Masked bodies form an unstable, almost animal hierarchy outdoors. The image is playful, but the physical arrangement suggests pressure, dependence and inherited control.
Family Rules examines how difficult it can be to exist beneath the weight of family expectations. Families provide attachment and identity, but they can also impose roles so early and so repeatedly that the individual struggles to distinguish inherited rules from personal desire.
Shik is interested in that internal conflict: the love of family can coexist with the need to escape parts of what the family has taught us to be. Growing up may therefore require not rejecting family, but separating love from obedience.
A nude figure kneels among horses and antlers in a landscape that feels both vulnerable and protective. The body is exposed, but not abandoned.
Safe Place begins in Shik’s personal search for a place—physical, emotional and psychological—where vigilance can finally soften. The work asks what it means to have somewhere, or someone, in whose presence the body does not need to defend itself. Safety here is not comfort in a superficial sense; it is the possibility of existing without constant anticipation of threat.
For Shik, that search is also spiritual. A safe place can be another person, nature, the body, or an inner state of trust.
Human figures appear in animal masks, crouching, crawling and drinking from muddy water. The absurdity is deliberate: the same people who judge animals as dirty, primitive or inferior often live through equally instinctive routines, dependencies and contradictions.
Shik turns the hierarchy between “civilised human” and “animal” back onto the viewer. Farm Life is about hypocrisy in social judgment. People distance themselves from what they consider crude while reproducing similar behaviours in different forms. The work asks whether civilisation is really the opposite of animality—or simply animal behaviour covered by better manners and more elaborate stories.
Shik reconstructs the foundational story of social classification by colliding Genesis, evolutionary language and contemporary identity. The familiar binary of Adam and Eve is destabilised until naming itself becomes the subject.
Psychologically, the work concerns categorisation: the mind's tendency to simplify a complex social world by placing people into recognisable groups. Categories make social life cognitively manageable, but they also accumulate expectations about what bodies should be, how they should behave and with whom they should belong. Shik asks what happens when a useful cognitive shortcut becomes mistaken for an absolute truth about another human being.
Human figures inhabit a social environment that feels less like a harmonious community than a complicated behavioural ecosystem. Every body seems to negotiate position, proximity and the rules governing how one is allowed to belong.
Animal Kingdom examines the exhausting complexity of social adaptation. To participate in society, a person must learn countless unspoken rules: how to speak, dress, behave, respond, suppress, perform and read other people correctly. For someone to whom those rules are not intuitive, social life can resemble entering an unfamiliar species' habitat. Shik asks how much adaptation is necessary for connection—and at what point fitting in begins to erase the self.
A nude figure stands alone in vegetation wearing a crown of branches, blending religious imagery with bodily vulnerability.
Personal Jesus is not primarily about institutional religion. It belongs to Shik’s personal spirituality—the search for an inner relationship with something larger than the social self.
The work treats spirituality as a source of orientation, intimacy and meaning rather than doctrine. For someone who often experiences social systems as confusing or restrictive, inner spiritual experience offers another kind of belonging: one that does not need to be granted by a group.
Figures occupy a woodland scene in which childhood familiarity and adult uncertainty overlap. The fairy-tale title immediately introduces a world of wandering, danger, dependence and the need to find a way home.
Shik uses Hansel and Gretel as a psychological image of navigating life without complete instructions. Childhood stories teach us that forests contain danger and that paths can be lost; adulthood reveals that the social world is not very different. We carry early fears, family rules and survival strategies into environments far more complicated than the stories prepared us for. The question is not whether we become lost, but how we learn to continue when the breadcrumbs disappear.
Bodies interact awkwardly under intense theatrical light, their gestures hovering between intimacy, performance, confusion and miscommunication.
Shik makes visible what social interaction can feel like from the inside: not effortless conversation, but the sensation of walking on eggshells. A person must continually interpret expressions, tone, distance, timing and expectation while wondering whether something has already gone wrong.
Social Skills challenges the assumption that social ease is natural. For many people it is learned labour. The work asks how much authentic connection is possible when part of the mind remains occupied with monitoring whether one is behaving correctly.
A nude figure lies loosely on the grass beneath grazing horses, her body almost surrendered to the surrounding landscape.
Letting Go reflects Shik’s belief that life is cyclical. Relationships, places, identities and desires can be necessary for one period and no longer necessary in another. Psychological suffering often begins when people continue holding what has already completed its function.
The work is not about giving up. It is about recognising transition. To let go is to accept that ending is part of movement, and that space has to be created before something new can begin.
Human bodies and an animal face are layered into one unstable construction, collapsing the boundary between instinct, culture and social performance.
Shik uses Natural Selection to ask how much of human behaviour belongs to biology and how much is learned. But the work also reflects a spiritual humility: humans are not separate from nature simply because they have language, culture and institutions.
The tension is important. We are biological, social and spiritual beings at once. The work resists reducing humanity to any one of those dimensions.
The photographic body is partially disrupted by translucent material that enters and obscures the image, making vision possible but never completely clear.
The work is about awareness—not the fantasy of perfect objectivity, but the practice of noticing what shapes perception. Shik treats awareness as one of the most important psychological capacities because judgment usually arrives before reflection.
To have “unclouded eyes” is therefore not to see without bias. It is to recognise that bias, emotion, history and expectation are already present. Awareness creates a small distance between reaction and action, and within that distance lies the possibility of choosing differently.
A photographic image of an exposed body is embedded within an aggressively painted cartoon environment, including an oversized rabbit-like figure. Desire, childhood visual language and theatrical fantasy occupy the same surface.
The work concerns suggestibility and attentional capture. To mesmerise someone is to hold attention so completely that competing information temporarily loses strength. Social environments do this continuously through charisma, desire, authority, advertising and spectacle. Shik deliberately makes the visual field almost too persuasive, asking when attraction becomes influence—and whether awareness of being influenced is enough to restore autonomy.
Across the sequence, figures move between attraction, physical closeness, pursuit and distance. Intimacy appears urgently desired and simultaneously difficult to sustain.
Shik uses the title not as a diagnosis of the photographed subjects, but as a warning about how widespread insecure patterns of attachment can be. People may long for closeness while fearing it, chase connection and then withdraw, confuse intensity with intimacy, or protect themselves so effectively that genuine feeling becomes difficult.
The work argues for awareness of attachment patterns. Without it, relationships can repeatedly fail for reasons neither person understands. Knowing how we attach does not guarantee successful love, but it can stop unconscious fear from making every relationship repeat the same wound.
A skull dominates the composition while photographic fragments remain embedded across its surface.
Mortality is central to Shik’s spiritual worldview because it makes attachment, fear and social judgment appear temporary. The work is not morbid; it is clarifying.
Doing the Dying asks what changes when death is understood not as an abstract future event but as part of life’s cycle. If everything changes and ends, then holding too tightly—to status, resentment, identity or certainty—becomes psychologically costly. Awareness of mortality can therefore become an argument for living more consciously.
A grotesque painted figure competes with mediated images of exposed body, creating a collision between respectable surface and less presentable desire.
Shik rejects the social fantasy that psychologically healthy people are consistently good, controlled and pure. Human beings contain envy, aggression, sexuality, selfishness, jealousy and impulses they prefer not to display.
Dark Necessities concerns the shadow side of personality: not as something to celebrate indiscriminately, but something that must first be acknowledged. Denial produces fakery. The constant performance of goodness can make people less honest with themselves and therefore less responsible for what they actually feel. Acceptance begins where moral self-advertising ends.
Masked bodies appear in chaotic physical encounters involving water, objects, movement and force. The body is not fragile here; it is astonishingly resilient.
War Machine turns attention toward human strength. Bodies endure injury, stress, illness, exhaustion and psychological pressure while continuing to adapt. Shik treats the human organism itself as evidence of this capacity.
The title is intentionally aggressive, but the “machine” is not about militarism. It is the extraordinary biological system through which consciousness survives the world. The work asks the viewer to recognise strength not only in domination or achievement, but in the body's daily act of continuing.
Erotic photographic fragments are surrounded by painted fantasy, creating an image in which the real person becomes increasingly difficult to separate from the projection built around them.
The work addresses the contemporary substitution of parasocial fantasy for reciprocal intimacy. Social platforms allow people to construct gods from images: personalities are followed, desired and emotionally invested in without the vulnerability demanded by real relationships.
Shik is less interested in condemning technology than in what gets displaced. Attention becomes connection; visibility becomes intimacy; performance becomes personality. Jess, Can I be your Solo Fan? asks what is lost when mediated fantasy becomes safer and more attractive than being genuinely present with another imperfect human being.
Human figures, animals, vegetation and handmade imagery occupy the same visual field without a clear hierarchy between them.
The work comes from Shik’s spiritual understanding of loving-kindness as a way of meeting the world. Connection is not limited to romantic love or human relationships; it extends to strangers, animals, landscape and environment.
Psychologically, loving-kindness shifts attention away from threat and evaluation toward care and recognition. Spiritually, it becomes a practice: approaching existence without immediately asking what can be taken, controlled or judged. In Shik’s work, connection begins with the decision to encounter rather than dominate.
Resonance is about the invisible way people affect one another. A gesture, emotion, memory or mood does not remain contained inside one person; it can be absorbed, mirrored and carried by someone else.
Shik treats human connection almost like vibration: we enter one another's emotional fields, often without consciously deciding to. The work reflects the social-scientific idea that behaviour and affect are relational rather than purely individual. Resonance can create empathy and belonging, but it can also amplify anxiety, fear or conflict. The question is not whether we influence one another, but how aware we are of what we transmit.
An exposed body is embedded within a fragile, cross-like painted structure. Religious symbolism surrounds the figure without fully containing it.
The title—Father, do you still love me?—turns religion into the emotional question beneath authority: does love remain when I no longer fit the expected form?
The work is about the tension between spirituality and institutional belonging. Shik is spiritually inclined, but wary of systems that make love conditional upon obedience. The psychological pressure is therefore not simply religious; it is deeply familiar from family and social life: the fear that becoming oneself may cost attachment.
Two nude figures occupy the landscape at different levels, one masked, one lying exposed on the grass.
The title is a simple human request: do not leave yet.
Shik treats attachment without shame. The desire for closeness is not weakness; it is part of being human. But attachment also carries fear, because everything we love can change or disappear.
Placed beside Letting Go, the work forms an important pair: one asks for presence, the other accepts departure. Together they describe the emotional cycle of connection.
Two images move from individual concentration toward shared attention and closeness. The title sounds patient, but Shik gives it an ironic edge: complete readiness may never arrive.
People postpone living while waiting to be healed enough, confident enough, financially secure enough, emotionally prepared enough or certain enough. But psychological certainty is often a moving target.
When You Are Ready argues for presence despite incompleteness. You may never feel entirely ready to love, change, leave, begin or risk being seen. Life happens before psychological preparation is finished. At some point, readiness becomes less important than participation: to love, to act, and to be here now.
Black-and-white human forms dissolve into an abstract surface of scratches, fragments and darkness, as though the body is already becoming memory.
The work returns to mortality, but not as an argument for fear. Shik treats awareness of death as a reason to become more fully alive. Much anxiety about dying comes from the feeling that life has not been inhabited deeply enough—that presence was postponed, love withheld, experience avoided.
Fading Away asks whether accepting impermanence can reduce the terror of disappearance. We will fade. The psychological task is not to prevent that fact, but to live sufficiently that death no longer feels like the theft of a life never fully entered.
The human figure exists within an unmistakably contemporary visual world, but the body remains animal, vulnerable and materially continuous with every generation before it.
Shik examines the tension between technological acceleration and biological continuity. Social systems, screens, information and identities change with extraordinary speed, yet Homo sapiens still requires touch, rest, food, safety, belonging and contact with the physical world.
Movement of Our Time asks whether progress is carrying humanity forward faster than our psychological systems can adapt. The challenge is not to reject modernity, but to remain human inside it—to remember that beneath increasingly sophisticated environments is still an animal body trying to live, connect and make sense of its surroundings.
A gesture, body or interaction is treated not through force but through softness, making gentleness itself the central action.
Shik presents gentleness as psychological strength rather than passivity. Human beings are quick to judge because judgment creates certainty and distance. Compassion requires something harder: remaining open long enough to consider that another person's behaviour may come from pain, fear or circumstances we cannot see.
Gentle Move extends this principle inward as well. Self-criticism rarely produces the clarity people imagine it does. The work proposes a different order of response: first gentleness, then understanding, then judgment—if judgment is still necessary.
Two faces occupy the same encounter while withholding more than they reveal. The composition is intimate, yet emotional access remains uncertain.
Poker Face examines how double-faced social life can become. People learn early to regulate expression, hide fear, perform confidence and protect the parts of themselves they believe may be rejected. The mask is psychologically useful—it allows us to function—but it also makes intimacy harder. Shik asks why vulnerability feels so dangerous that people often prefer to be misunderstood rather than genuinely seen. The work is ultimately about the distance between the socially acceptable self and the private one.
For Shik, the “inner child” is not a fashionable therapeutic cliché. It is the part of adulthood still shaped by early fear, wonder, dependency, play and unmet needs.
The work asks how much adult behaviour continues to carry childhood responses beneath sophisticated social roles. Healing does not necessarily mean eliminating that child. It may mean recognising, protecting and integrating it without allowing it to govern everything unconsciously.
Torture Me examines the point at which a relationship that once offered safety becomes psychologically destructive.
Shik is interested in how toxicity can coexist with love. A person may care deeply for another and still manipulate, humiliate, control or repeatedly wound them—sometimes consciously, sometimes through patterns they refuse to examine. Attachment can then become the very reason harm continues: intimacy creates knowledge of the other person's vulnerabilities, and that knowledge can be used either to protect or to injure.
The work rejects the comforting assumption that love automatically produces kindness. Love is an emotion; loving behaviour is a practice. Without awareness, responsibility and respect for the other's boundaries, closeness itself can become a weapon.
Figures appear separated inside stark, almost empty spaces, yet the work is not simply about being physically alone.
Shik is interested in the far more common form of isolation that occurs while surrounded by other people. A person may have family, partners, colleagues or an active social life and still feel fundamentally unseen. Physical proximity does not guarantee emotional connection.
The work distinguishes solitude from loneliness. Solitude can be chosen and restorative; isolation becomes painful when there is no meaningful reciprocity. Isolation asks how many people appear socially connected while privately experiencing the absence of genuine contact.
A woman holds a strange flesh-like object decorated with beads, her expression oscillating between fascination and alarm.
The Idol examines projection: the human tendency to invest people, objects and beliefs with meanings that exceed what is actually there.
Psychologically, idealisation can create attachment and aspiration. Spiritually, Shik asks a harder question: when does reverence become displacement of one's own inner authority? The idol becomes dangerous when the symbolic object is treated as more meaningful than the consciousness that created it.
A nude figure struggles or moves within a bright interior while large sheets of fabric billow unpredictably around the body.
The work reflects Shik’s acceptance that life is not fully controllable. Psychology can help explain behaviour, but no system removes uncertainty, loss or contradiction.
The title is therefore almost liberating. Life does not have to become perfectly “workable” before it can be meaningful. The fabric cannot be controlled completely, yet the body continues moving inside it. For Shik, maturity lies partly in learning how to live within uncertainty rather than defeating it.
Two women( one transgender) appear in a stark black-and-white composition, one approaching the other intimately while both resist a simple reading of who is “well” and who is not.
The title challenges the social habit of deciding who is psychologically “okay.” People who live outside conventional standards of behaviour, identity or appearance are often treated as unstable simply because they make others uncomfortable.
Shik reverses that judgment. The people labelled “not okay” may be the ones living most consciously and honestly, while apparently normal social behaviour can conceal repression, fear and unhappiness. OKAY asks whether normality is really evidence of psychological health—or merely evidence of successful conformity.
The work introduces a contemporary reflex: rather than remaining present with what is physically before us, we reach immediately toward the digital world for explanation, verification or meaning.
Shik gives this behaviour an almost religious dimension. Google becomes a modern oracle: a place to which uncertainty is outsourced. Instead of observing, feeling or tolerating not knowing, the individual searches for an external answer.
Google Me is therefore about attention and displaced awareness. Technology gives extraordinary access to information, but information can become another way of avoiding direct experience. The work asks what happens when searching replaces seeing—and whether constant access to answers weakens our ability simply to be present with the world in front of us.
A person first moves through an ordinary domestic environment and then sits with the face held between both hands, as though thought itself has become physically heavy.
Shik approaches thinking as both gift and trap. Reflection allows us to question instinct, social rules and inherited beliefs, but the same capacity can turn into rumination. The mind can become so occupied with analysing, predicting and constructing possible outcomes that it loses contact with immediate experience.
Having a Thought asks where useful reflection ends and psychological entanglement begins. We need thought in order to become aware, but we can also disappear inside it. Sometimes the mind designed to help us navigate reality becomes the place in which we become most lost.
Warm festive imagery surrounds the body while childhood symbols of reward, fantasy and moral judgment remain present.
Shik uses the familiar promise of Santa—be good and you will be rewarded—to examine the unfairness hidden inside universal standards. Social life often judges people as if everyone began from the same emotional, economic and familial conditions.
But life is not distributed equally.
Some people grow up safe; others learn survival. Some receive encouragement; others inherit fear, violence or deprivation. Dear Santa… asks how fairly we can judge behaviour without considering the circumstances that shaped it. The same rule applied to radically different lives does not necessarily produce justice.
Adult bodies crawl, play and interact with oversized sweets and childlike imagery.
Bright as Future turns optimism into something less naïve than the title first suggests. A future can appear dazzling precisely because it has not yet been lived.
Shik is interested in hope as a psychological necessity. Humans need possible futures in order to tolerate uncertainty, recover from loss and continue acting in the present. Yet optimism becomes meaningful only when it remains connected to awareness rather than fantasy.
The work therefore sits between aspiration and responsibility. The future is not automatically bright; brightness is something people help construct through the way they treat themselves, one another and the world now. Hope is not prediction. It is a reason to keep participating.
A soft, idealised portrait is paired with a more physical, awkward body lying outdoors.
The work explores fantasy not as escape alone, but as a necessary psychological and spiritual space where possible futures can first exist.
Shik does not oppose dreaming to reality. Dreams can guide movement, but they must eventually encounter the body, time and circumstance. The tension between the two images captures that passage: the imagined self and the lived self are never identical, yet both are necessary.
Bodies approach, touch and separate across a cool-toned sequence.
Hold Me Tight explores the need for physical and emotional containment. Human beings often regulate fear through closeness; another body can become a temporary structure of safety.
But Shik also understands that holding cannot become permanent possession. The work sits between attachment and release: the need to be held is real, and so is the need eventually to stand independently.
A woman confronts the camera while surrounded by nude bodies; another image withdraws into blur and distance.
This is one of the clearest works in the entire project.
Shik directly exposes the viewer's compulsion to judge. Body, age, sexuality, posture, beauty and social behaviour are processed almost instantly, often before curiosity begins.
The title is deliberately provocative: go ahead, judge. But notice yourself doing it.
The work does not ask for a world without judgment. It asks for awareness of how little information judgment often requires—and how confident people become despite that lack of knowledge.