VaiAlTuoPaese
VaiAlTuoPaese examines what happens to human identity, dignity and belonging when political, economic and social systems reduce people to categories, borders and conditions of acceptance. Through migration, displacement and the experience of being judged by structures larger than the individual, Anastasia Shik asks what remains when belonging is made conditional—and whether a more humane society can begin by recognising the person before the category.
My birthplace was Saratov, a small Russian provincial town situated on the Volga River in the times of USSR. Because of its underdevelopment, the city gained notoriety and frequently appears on Russian comedic television programs as a prime example of an apocalyptic location.
I arrived in the US 17 years ago with no money, no job, and undocumented. Later I found myselfI so consumed by the fantasy of a relationship with the UK; I was convinced it would be my happily ever after. My feelings towards London changed repeatedly throughout my time there.
But now I’ve become an Italian citizen. Eleven years of my life have been spent here.
Although Russian is my mother tongue, English is the language spoken by my children and me. Despite fluency in three languages and competence in several more, my dysgraphia leads to frequent harsh criticism of my writing. I often notice that instead of understanding my point, people zero in on my mistakes. In general, though, I feel positive about using English.
I’ve been an immigrant for half my life, yet I remain baffled by the ever-changing rules and social dynamics of each new country. It can be gender games, sexual games, babysitter games, good doctor/bad artist games, language games, outfit games, political games.
Billions inhabit the world, yet the claim that nobody eats at 6 pm persists.
Fuck!I am lost again! I do not understand the rules! I just feel that I am not enough and I have lost a sense of where do I belong!
Have you not? Are you sure?
What do you feel?
An Atlas of Belonging in Limbo.
part 1.
The first part of the project contemplates a world in unsettling transition. Sunlight persists, yet the air hangs heavy, and the vibrant tapestry of birdsong frays into silence. Our connections – once familiar – strain and transform... A profound rift widens in the shared ground beneath us, mirroring a society hardening, its empathy thinning. We sense a collective stumble, a gnawing absence where compassion resided. The imperative to move, to migrate from this fractured point, remains urgent. Yet, a stark quiet descends, visions grow shadowed by a gathering, unsettling presence...
What do you feel?
A male body emerges from near-total darkness, folded toward the floor with his arms drawn behind his back as though restrained. A domestic lamp remains lit beside him, making the ordinary interior more disturbing rather than reassuring.
Shik reduces political crisis to its most immediate consequence: the loss of agency over one's own body. Dark Night occupies the interval in which an established order is failing but no alternative has yet appeared. The man is neither absent nor defeated; he is conscious inside a condition he cannot control.
Across the triptych, bodies perform, clutch, watch and surrender within an atmosphere of 1970s glamour. Seduction makes the distinction between voluntary participation and possession intentionally difficult to locate.
Shik uses erotic power as a model for ideological influence. Individuals are never formed in isolation: desire, family, media, culture and politics continuously enter the self. The work therefore rejects autonomy understood as freedom from influence. Its harder proposition is that agency requires recognising what possesses us—and developing enough reflective distance to decide which attachments should be resisted and which may be consciously chosen.
Body occupyes an intimate space in which touch remains difficult to classify. Physical proximity suggests affection and dependence, yet the composition also carries the possibility of hostility.
Shik relocates apocalypse from spectacular catastrophe to the scale of human relationships. Political fracture begins when recognition between people weakens—when those who once belonged to the same social world become threats to one another. The work treats intimacy as a miniature political system, capable of both solidarity and collapse.
The same exposed woman appears twice, crowned and surrounded by national and ceremonial symbolism. In one image she seems almost devotional; in the other, the red backdrop and cane shift the performance toward authority.
The diptych separates patriotism from obedience. National attachment can sustain solidarity and collective responsibility, but symbols can also convert belonging into political discipline. Shik's figure is simultaneously believer and ruler, vulnerable citizen and national icon. Patriots proposes that mature loyalty is not blindness: criticism may be one of the obligations created by belonging rather than evidence of its absence.
Belongs To the Sasse Museum of Art.
Photography's claim to recorded reality remains present, but the image has been contaminated by another system capable of modifying what appears credible.
The work engages Daniel Kahneman's distinction between intuitive System 1 judgment and slower analytical reasoning. Visual distortion becomes analogous to cognitive bias: perception is modified before the viewer necessarily recognises the modification. In an algorithmic information environment, this is no longer purely psychological. System 1 asks what happens to democratic judgment when technological systems learn to address human intuition faster than reflection can correct it.
The composition closes around the human figure, making proximity itself the dominant visual condition. Rather than presenting independence as an ideal, Shik turns enclosure, contact and the need for others into the subject.
Placed within An Atlas of Belonging in Limbo, the title becomes deliberately double-edged. To be surrounded can mean protection, intimacy and belonging; it can also mean pressure, loss of space and absorption into the group. The work recognises a fundamental political tension: human beings seek autonomy, but few can survive psychologically or materially without structures of attachment around them.
Bodies press around a central figure whose open posture contrasts with the physical density enclosing her. Her expression suggests consciousness without escape: surrounded by people, yet isolated within the event.
The composition translates helplessness into spatial pressure. Frozen distinguishes passivity from paralysis—the experience of understanding that something is wrong while possessing insufficient power to alter it. War, repression and systemic collapse are vast abstractions until they reach this scale: an individual body overwhelmed by forces that continue moving around him.
A fractured collage collides bodies, smoke, colour and revolutionary imagery with fragments of contemporary life. Its disorder deliberately refuses the compositional certainty of Delacroix's Liberty Leading the People, whose heroic structure it invokes and destabilises.
Shik strips revolution of retrospective purity. Political transformation occurs amid competing demands—security and welfare, military expenditure and social protection, national myths and ordinary consumption. The deliberately absurd croissant matters because history is lived mundanely while it is being mythologised elsewhere. Liberation is not an image of victory; it is a distribution of risks, resources and consequences.
A small convex mirror offers only a partial, compressed view of an intimate scene. The viewer must look through another object in order to see, immediately becoming conscious of intrusion, framing and incomplete information.
The reference to van Eyck is less quotation than epistemological trap. Shik exposes the tendency to complete ambiguous realities with assumption. This mechanism extends beyond the private scene to the way strangers, migrants and unfamiliar identities are classified. The image withholds certainty; what the spectator invents to replace it becomes part of the artwork.
In the diptych, exposed bodies are crossed by ropes, stockings and physical contact until it becomes difficult to distinguish support from restriction. The lines appear almost anatomical—as if an external structure has attached itself to the body.
This ambiguity is central to Shik's understanding of bureaucracy. Documents, laws, borders and institutions constrain individual movement, yet they also make rights, recognition and social participation possible. Bureaucracy rejects the fantasy that freedom exists outside systems altogether. Political life begins in the difficult space between being bound by society and being protected by it.
The diptych shifts abruptly between monochrome restraint and violently exposed colour. Instruments associated with domination turn sexuality into a visual language of authority, submission and responsibility.
The title engages Erich Fromm's argument that freedom can be psychologically difficult because autonomy removes the security of predetermined roles. This acquires particular force within Shik's wider experience of migration: leaving one system may provide freedom without immediately providing orientation or belonging. Fear of Freedom locates authoritarian temptation partly inside this anxiety—the desire to exchange the uncertainty of self-determination for the apparent safety of structure.
One figure establishes a deliberate relationship with the camera while others remain visually more passive, producing a hierarchy of attention inside the frame.
The work addresses metacognition—the capacity to observe one’s own thinking. In contemporary visual culture, images of war, migration, sexuality and catastrophe are consumed at extraordinary speed. Shik turns conscious self-presentation into a form of resistance to automatic perception. The central question is not simply what is being seen, but whether the viewer notices the mechanisms through which judgment is being formed.
Nude bodies overlap densely on a patterned surface until separate figures begin to resemble one organism. Yet the same entanglement that produces unity also makes boundaries difficult to identify.
The composition embodies a central paradox of political belonging. Human beings require communities, but communities can define themselves by exclusion as easily as solidarity. Shik collapses this problem into the body: there is no comfortable distance between “us” and “them” here. The work asks whether collective identity can remain strong enough to bind people together without becoming dependent on somebody else's exclusion.
Three women perform inside a spectacular artificial garden of oversized roses. Saturated colour, costume and theatrical abundance make the enclosed world intensely desirable.
This seduction is the political mechanism of the image. Shik does not treat distraction simply as ignorance; retreat can be a rational psychological response to realities too large or painful to process continuously. Yet refuge becomes dangerous when it permanently replaces engagement. The garden is therefore both sanctuary and enclosure. Do Not Look Up! Dance! asks at what point the freedom to escape reality becomes participation in maintaining it.
The figure occupies the image with an imposing, almost mythological physicality. Rather than illustrating a battlefield, the work brings the presence of force directly into human scale.
Named after the Greek god of war, Ares examines the ambiguity surrounding political violence. The same force can be described as defence, liberation, aggression or occupation depending on position and consequence. By refusing a clear heroic narrative, the work exposes how quickly abstract geopolitical language changes once violence reaches a body, a street or a home.
Two bodies are compressed into a dark, cage-like interior. Their exposed skin, paint-like marks and surrounding sexual objects produce an uneasy mixture of intimacy, injury and performance.
Shik deliberately refuses to let sexual visibility stand automatically for liberation. The figures can express themselves, yet the architecture surrounding them remains claustrophobic. The contradiction points toward a larger political problem: societies may celebrate individual freedom rhetorically while continuing to contest bodily autonomy in practice. The “cage” is therefore not simply the photographed room; it is the persistence of structures that make freedom conditional.
The diptych isolates fragments of the body against deep black. One form is barely visible; the other is brought close enough for skin, piercings and physical marks to become its own landscape.
Shik deliberately borrows the language of economics to address bodily sovereignty. Before property can mean land, capital or inheritance, there is the question of whether an individual possesses authority over the self. Culture, family, religion and the state inevitably make claims upon bodies. PRIVATE PROPERTY asks where legitimate social influence ends and ownership begins—and insists that the distinction is politically fundamental.
Compass for the Displaced.
Part 2.
This part emerged from my own displacement, searching for logic in a bordered world. I confronted brutal contradictions fuelling migration:
Why does inequality force movement while walls rise?
How did history create zones of abundance and deprivation? Why do barriers deny dignity to those seeking safety or opportunity?
Where is home?
Where do I belong?
Marx helped me understand how class, alienation and economic structures can reduce human beings to labour, commodities and positions within a system. Fromm showed me something more psychological: why freedom itself can become frightening, and why people may seek security through conformity or submission. Kahneman made me look at the limits of our own judgment—how fast thinking, bias and incomplete information shape the way we classify others.
Their insights framed my core questions through migration's lens:
• Why pathologize identities forged by crossing borders?
• Who declares displaced people "unfit," and by what right?
• Why look away from forced migration?
• Is belonging a fixed place (noun) or an act of courage (verb)?
Do we own land or nurture those who arrive?
In these ruins of certainty, I assemble a compass for the displaced.
Male bodies are compressed into a black-and-white mass, limbs folding across one another until individual identity becomes difficult to separate from collective material.
The work draws on Marx's critique of commodification and alienation. Shik pushes that logic toward displacement: a migrant can be translated into labour supply, demographic statistic, security category or economic value before being recognised as a person. The photograph resists this reduction precisely through flesh—bodies remain irreducibly human even while the composition makes them appear processed, bundled and interchangeable.
A nude figure in a traditional headscarf stands against an ornate cabinet while a blurred jar dominates the foreground, partially obscuring the scene. The composition places cultural identity, domestic history and the opacity of power in the same frame.
State Capitalism addresses the contradiction of systems that permit capital to circulate while restricting human movement. Shik turns the body into contested territory: visible, economically useful, culturally marked, yet politically contained. The blurred foreground object becomes an apt image of mechanisms that shape lives while remaining difficult to see clearly.
cross the triptych, a dominant figure controls the scene through posture, equipment and the visual language of BDSM. The repeated arrangement turns domination into a system rather than an isolated act.
The work extends Fromm's analysis of sadistic and masochistic tendencies as responses to the anxiety of freedom. Here, erotic submission becomes a political metaphor: autonomy can be exchanged for certainty, belonging or protection. For displaced people this bargain can become painfully literal—between states, employers, smugglers or ideologies. Shik refuses the easy assumption that domination survives only through force; sometimes dependency participates in maintaining it.
A bound male figure hangs upside down while a woman in red netting occupies the foreground, both bodies captured inside an architecture of restraint.
The composition turns absolutist power into gravitational logic: authority determines orientation itself—who stands, who hangs, who may move. Shik connects historical political absolutism to the continuing human desire for concentrated authority capable of promising order. Yet order achieved through submission carries its own instability. The image asks whether a political structure can claim legitimacy when obedience depends not upon consent, but upon the body's inability to escape.
A nude figure appears repeatedly in a natural setting, crowned and posed between vulnerability, ritual and authority. The body performs sovereignty while remaining visibly mortal.
The title collapses political hierarchy into a larger question of legitimacy: who gives one human being the authority to determine another's worth? Shik places monarchy, religion and nationalism within the same visual tension between symbolic power and ordinary flesh. Crowns and doctrines can elevate individuals institutionally, but they do not alter their humanity. Political authority therefore requires justification beyond its own symbols.
Two staged scenes organise bodies vertically: one figure stands while another is positioned below, producing an unmistakable hierarchy of control and dependence.
The title invokes Robert Michels' “iron law of oligarchy,” his argument that organisations tend to concentrate power in small leadership groups even when founded on democratic ideals. Shik translates institutional hierarchy into intimate choreography. Power survives not only through obvious violence but through repetition, habit and dependency. The disturbing question is therefore not simply why elites dominate, but why unequal structures can begin to feel natural to those living inside them.
An older woman cradles a younger man's head against her exposed body. Age, sexuality and conventional ideas of intimacy are stripped of their usual hierarchy; the central gesture is care.
The title—“Nothing human is alien to me”—turns the photograph into a proposition about solidarity. Shik refuses compassion based solely on similarity. The bodies do not need to belong to the same generation, nation or social category in order to recognise vulnerability in one another. Against the administrative logic of migration, the work restores a simpler political fact: dependence is part of being human.
Warm orange light, candles and the reclining body give the diptych the atmosphere of both intimacy and ritual. Life is presented beside its inevitable disappearance.
Mortality functions here as a radical equaliser. Citizenship, borders, status and possession acquire enormous political importance during life, yet none survives the body indefinitely. Shik uses this knowledge not to dismiss political identity but to question its scale. If human life is temporary, structures that deny safety in the name of permanent territorial ownership begin to appear strangely disproportionate.
(110-80) mixed media
The work contrasts two forms of bodily attachment. In one, bodies appear to grasp and hold; in the other, they fold into a quieter, almost self-contained embrace.
The title refers to Erich Fromm's distinction between modes of having and being. For the displaced person, possession—documents, property, status, nationality—can become a desperate substitute for security. Shik counters this with physical recognition: belonging may also arise through relationships that cannot be owned. The work asks whether home is something one possesses, or something repeatedly created between people.
A face disappears beneath translucent netting while a hand presses against the veil, creating an image of a person simultaneously present and inaccessible.
The work translates economic abstraction into bodily vulnerability. The individual becomes visible only through a structure that filters and restricts recognition. Shik connects this to precarious and migrant labour, where human beings may be valued according to how much can still be extracted from their time, mobility or insecurity. The hand against the net becomes resistance to this conversion of personhood into marginal economic utility.
Bodies emerge from darkness marked by paint and bodily traces, appearing caught between recognisable human form and something still becoming.
The title refers to the primordial void of Norse mythology—the space from which a new world emerges. Shik uses it to describe displacement as an unstable interval between identities. Migration destroys the comforting fiction that belonging must always be continuous. The loss of an old structure can feel like emptiness, but the image resists treating that void only as failure. What has not yet been defined may also contain political and personal possibility.
A hand holds an old photograph beneath candlelight, turning an image of the past into a fragile physical object inside the present.
The work connects migration to memory and the fantasy of permanence. People leave places yet continue carrying images, relationships and versions of themselves that no longer physically exist. Shik challenges belonging understood only as a fixed homeland. The photograph can be carried; the place cannot. Home therefore shifts from possession toward practice—a relationship repeatedly maintained even as geography, people and memory change.
Two bodies are tightly intertwined on a dark couch, one partly veiled, making intimacy appear inseparable from inherited identity.
Shik treats history not as background but as something entering the body. Borders, wars, religions, languages and national narratives are inherited before they are consciously chosen; they influence whom people trust, fear and recognise as familiar. The embrace therefore contains forces older than either participant. Shape of History asks how much of identity is genuinely personal, and how much arrives already written by political events that occurred before one's birth.
Two black-and-white images establish radically different bodily conditions: one figure is obscured by water and labour-like physicality; another reclines across a bed, insulated by softness and rest.
Shik makes class visible through what bodies are allowed to do. Inequality is not only numerical difference in income; it distributes fatigue, privacy, leisure, security and choice. Migration often begins inside this imbalance. The formal contrast exposes the gap between equal rights in theory and unequal capacities in practice: one body spends itself maintaining life while another is permitted to pause.
Bodies are densely tangled across a couch, physically touching yet psychologically dispersed. The saturated theatrical environment turns collective intimacy into something strangely isolated.
Shik reworks Marx's idea of alienation for a hyper-connected society. Physical proximity no longer guarantees common experience; people can inhabit the same space while attention, desire and political agency are directed elsewhere. Within the chapter's migration argument, this matters because indifference is not always created by distance. Sometimes suffering is visible and still fails to produce solidarity. Alienation asks what kind of social bond remains when witnessing no longer leads to participation.
Bodies are suspended, inverted and threaded through ropes inside an almost luxurious architecture of warm light and elaborate structure. Beauty and violence occupy the same space.
The title refers to institutions that concentrate political and economic benefits among narrow groups while limiting opportunity for others. Shik makes extraction bodily: human potential is literally held in arrangements built by someone else. The elegance of the image matters because exploitative systems rarely present themselves as chaos; they can be sophisticated, stable and profitable. What appears structurally impressive may still depend upon exhausting the people inside it.
The artwork places the human figure alongside organic, almost animal or tentacular forms, blurring the boundary between civilisation and biological life.
Shik removes the narratives through which societies declare themselves exceptional. Nationality, religion, class and culture matter politically, but beneath them remains an animal species requiring food, security, attachment and a liveable environment. The strange fusion of human and non-human forms resists the fantasy that civilisation has lifted humanity outside nature. Borders may organise political space; they cannot cancel common biological vulnerability.
Bodies are caught inside frames, ropes and netting, arranged almost like components within a mechanism. Their positions appear functional even when physically absurd.
Shik borrows the language of market efficiency and deliberately misapplies it to human beings. Economic models can describe how resources and information move; they cannot determine human value. The visual system appears “efficient” precisely because each body has been assigned a position. The work exposes the moral danger of interpreting market outcomes as evidence of merit: an ordered mechanism can still produce profoundly unjust lives.
On Humanity and Life in female body.
Part 3.
For the this part, I chose the figure of a woman as a lens—not because her oppression is simple, but because her history is the most visibly documented. (Other marginalized identities face complexities that demand deeper excavation.)
Once, I was called a feminist; I even exhibited under that banner. Yet the term never fit. Feminist? Me? Which wave?
I read Simone de Beauvoir and her account of woman as the “Other”—a person whose identity is historically defined in relation to a supposedly neutral male subject. It helped me understand the mechanism of classification, but my question became wider. Why should any human being have to prove that a category—woman, migrant, gay, religious, racial, political—makes them worthy of safety in the first place?
Pope Francis called migration ‘a complex reality’—war, poverty, climate. But when survival hangs on proof, complexity becomes cruelty.
Why should a woman (or a gay man, a scientist, a Jew, a Christian, a Black child, an orphan) justify their humanity to earn safety?
When did migration stop being a cry for life and start being an application to be graded?
Whence come you, strange Sphinx ?'
The female body is pushed forward almost confrontationally while a reconstructed Nefertiti-like crown introduces history, exoticism and cultural projection into the image.
The title echoes the interrogatory language directed at the unfamiliar: Who are you? Where are you from? What are you? Shik reverses the traditional Sphinx myth. The woman no longer asks the riddle; she has become the object required to solve one about herself. Identity becomes an application repeatedly submitted to the gaze of others. The work asks why complexity must be reduced before a person can be accepted.
A crowned nude woman sits openly on a leather armchair, surrounded by ordinary objects, including a conspicuous mug placed on the floor. Royal symbolism and domestic banality collide.
The work invokes Maslow's hierarchy of needs but destabilises its upward logic. A crown may suggest recognition or self-actualisation, yet dignity becomes meaningless when safety, belonging and material stability remain uncertain. Shik turns psychological theory into political criticism: societies frequently demand achievement, integration and respectable self-presentation from people whose basic conditions have never been secured. The crown is therefore both aspiration and absurd burden.
A chain crosses an exposed woman's torso while another body enters closely into the frame. Desire, domination and bodily surrender become visually inseparable.
The title is deliberately uncomfortable because it complicates the distinction between imposed power and chosen submission. Shik uses erotic language to ask a political question: when survival requires adaptation to a stronger system, where does consent end and coercion begin? The body may appear to surrender willingly, yet willingness always exists inside circumstances. Conquer Me refuses the comforting assumption that power is easy to identify simply by looking at who appears to comply.
The diptych fragments the female body into breasts, skin and physical contact. Individual anatomy is made intensely visible while the second frame complicates solitude through proximity to another body.
The title invokes chromosomal language without pretending biology supplies a simple answer to identity. Shik exposes the violence of converting biological difference into a hierarchy of human worth. Scientific classification can describe variation; it cannot establish who deserves dignity, safety or political recognition. The photographs return the argument from code to flesh: whatever names society invents, the body remains vulnerable, relational and human.
A younger man rests against an older woman's exposed breast while her hand covers and protects his head. The photograph is maternal without being conventionally maternal, intimate without settling into sexuality.
Drawing on the Norse myth of Frigg's attempt to protect Balder from death, Shik turns care into a political problem. Protection is necessary because vulnerability is real; yet absolute protection can also become enclosure. For those whose children or loved ones inhabit hostile social conditions, the contradiction intensifies. Love becomes both refuge and the impossible wish to build a world no danger can enter.
A seated man rests between the legs of an older woman whose hands occupy his head and neck. The warm light makes the arrangement appear protective and coercive at the same time.
Shik turns mesmerism into a metaphor for asymmetrical trust. Migrants, dependants and marginalised people often must place extraordinary faith in institutions or individuals capable of granting access, protection or legitimacy. The person holding power can comfort and control through the same gesture. The work asks whether recognition gained through dependency produces genuine freedom—or only the relief of having finally been approved.
One woman and one transgender woman stand within dense greenery. One cradles the other's head and places a kiss against her forehead; the second body relaxes into the contact rather than performing for the viewer.
After the chapter's repeated scenes of classification, correction and domination, Common Understanding introduces recognition without examination. Neither woman is required to prove what she is before receiving care. Shik proposes solidarity not as sameness but as the capacity to make difference non-threatening. The garden becomes a temporary civic space: belonging is produced through mutual recognition rather than granted from above.
Beauty, aggression and caricature collapse into one exaggerated figure.
The portrait stages not the subject's inferiority but the distortion created by another person's insecurity. Difference is made monstrous because an unfamiliar or powerful presence threatens an established hierarchy. Shik turns prejudice into projection: the observer externalises fear and then names the resulting image as evidence against the person observed. The scissors sharpen the mechanism—before exclusion comes the act of cutting complexity into something easier to fear.
Three bodies compress into a dark, almost devotional arrangement. Their poses echo religious composition while nudity and erotic proximity destabilise any conventional sacred scene.
Shik borrows the language of the Holy Trinity to question cultural sanctification of women. Mother, virgin, muse, martyr and goddess appear elevated, yet each role reduces a living person into something symbolically useful to others. The work distinguishes reverence from recognition. A pedestal can be another structure of control when admiration requires the subject to remain an ideal rather than a contradictory human being.
Two mouths meet around a condom packet while one figure is blindfolded. The image is saturated, explicit and almost advertising-like, turning an object associated with sexual responsibility into the centre of a struggle over voice and control.
Shik compresses reproductive politics into a deliberately contradictory gesture. Contraception can expand bodily autonomy, yet responsibility for managing reproduction is itself unevenly distributed and politically contested. Placing the condom between mouths links sexuality to speech: who decides, who consents, who carries risk, and who is permitted to speak about it? Bodily sovereignty becomes inseparable from access to knowledge and choice.
Two nude female figures are absorbed into dense vegetation. Leaves, masks and organic forms partially replace recognisable identity, shifting the women toward mythological creatures.
Idealisation becomes another form of disappearance. Women are repeatedly elevated into goddess, muse, mother, erotic fantasy or symbol of nature; such elevation can sound complimentary while refusing ordinary personhood. Shik exposes this paradox by making the figures visually beautiful yet increasingly non-human. To place someone “above” humanity can dehumanise as effectively as placing them below it. Equality begins by permitting people to remain complicated, flawed and ordinary.
A male body occupies the foreground while a woman appears behind him, her arms entering the composition through touch. Darkness and closeness make the figures difficult to separate completely.
The photograph refuses moral sorting. Human beings carry tenderness, aggression, weakness, desire, selfishness and care without becoming reducible to any one of them. This complexity matters within a chapter about people being “graded”: systems often demand coherent identities because ambiguity is administratively inconvenient. Shik insists instead on contradiction as a condition of humanity. Recognition should not depend on proving that one is purely good.
The uncertainty makes her a Sphinx!'
A woman sits exposed within an aggressively saturated field of colour, wearing a fragmented, almost ceremonial headdress. Her mouth is open and her posture refuses the calm dignity traditionally expected of an icon.
Shik constructs the woman as a Sphinx because the viewer immediately begins to classify her: beautiful or grotesque, sacred or sexual, victim or threat. The contradiction belongs less to the subject than to the demand placed upon her. A human being is turned into a riddle whenever recognition depends on fitting a category that someone else has defined.
Two women sit close together inside a cage-like structure, their bodies marked and joined by a heavy chain. Yet an opening remains visible; captivity is not presented as mechanically absolute.
The image complicates the search for a single oppressor. Power can operate through law, prejudice and institutions, but also through habits internalised after prolonged exposure to them. Shik does not blame the confined subjects; she asks how external domination becomes psychologically durable. The chain therefore connects political and internal worlds: escaping a structure may be possible before believing in one's right to leave it becomes possible.
n this self-portrait, Shik confronts the camera while holding a dead fish beside her face. The object is tactile, unglamorous and faintly absurd; the artist refuses the polished femininity the portrait format might invite.
The work redirects observation back toward the person doing the looking. A woman accustomed to being interpreted becomes both subject and investigator. The dead fish interrupts idealisation with material fact: flesh, mortality, smell, nature. Observe the Observer proposes self-knowledge as resistance to identities produced entirely through external judgment. Before asking what others see, the subject claims the right to examine how she herself is seeing.
A woman stands almost completely wrapped in bandages.
The image literalises the violence hidden inside the promise of improvement. Beauty appears not as pleasure but as reconstruction: the self must be corrected before it becomes acceptable. Shik connects bodily modification to a broader politics of assimilation and respectability. The disturbing future tense of the title matters—beauty is always coming, never achieved. A person learns to live as a provisional version of herself, awaiting approval after one more correction.
A blonde transgender woman sits rigidly on a toilet beneath warm artificial light, dressed and composed yet visibly uncomfortable. The bathroom—a supposedly private space—becomes almost theatrical.
Shik turns an ordinary room into a political threshold. Public debates over gender, sexuality and belonging repeatedly converge on questions of who may occupy particular spaces without explanation. The absurdity is deliberate: a basic bodily need becomes subject to social classification. Bathroom Story asks how identity can remain private when even entering a room may require a person to justify what kind of body they are.
Where the Torch Passes to Unafraid Hands.
Part 4.
I am an optimist. I believe fiercely in youth—in their power to sculpt a brighter world. The planet is becoming better. Those who follow us will wield more compassion, wisdom, and knowledge than we ever dreamed. They are armed with truth; they hunger for justice.
They are bright.
They are beautiful.
They are fearless.
Yes, they may stumble—still playful, still experimenting—but I know they will rise. They will shatter old hierarchies. They will build deeper equality. They will heal what we fractured.
I believe in this new generation.
They are the dawn we’ve been waiting for.
he childish object becomes deliberately unstable: comic, erotic and slightly ridiculous at once.
Shik uses that collision to challenge the false division between seriousness and play. Youthful intelligence does not always present itself through sober language or respectable form. Experimentation can look chaotic before its logic becomes visible. Ducky' Fucky turns irreverence into a method: the freedom to combine what is not supposed to belong together can itself become a form of critical thought.
A nude figure stands in a cramped bathroom, surrounded by the banal clutter of everyday life. The title turns this intimate, almost ridiculous scene into a declaration of competition.
Shik treats competitiveness not automatically as aggression, but as a possible engine of self-improvement. The humour matters: ambition does not always need heroic imagery. Sometimes progress begins with the childish conviction that one's tomatoes can be better. The work asks whether competition can remain productive when superiority is directed toward making something better rather than making somebody else smaller.
A young nude figure sits on a toilet absorbed in a smartphone; in the second image, smoking and digital attention occupy the same private interval. Classical repose meets contemporary overstimulation.
The Latin phrase festina lente—“make haste slowly”—becomes unexpectedly current. Shik places a generation capable of accessing information instantly inside a body that still requires time to think. Speed produces knowledge only when accompanied by reflection. The work resists both nostalgia and technological worship: progress depends not on slowing the world down, but on developing minds capable of moving quickly without surrendering deliberation.
Rubber ducks float innocently in bathwater while the neighbouring image turns the bathroom into a chaotic performance of bodies, colour and interruption.
The diptych treats contemporary life as spectacle without declaring spectacle meaningless. Disorder is part of the environment the next generation inherits: technological acceleration, political instability, competing identities and endless information. Shik's absurd ducks refuse solemnity. Intelligence includes the ability to function inside uncertainty without pretending uncertainty has disappeared. Circus proposes adaptability not as resignation to chaos, but as the capacity to keep moving through it.
A crudely painted duck, intensely coloured light and partially exposed young bodies collide in a deliberately awkward triptych. Nothing behaves like a conventional portrait of intelligence.
The title reverses the tendency to dismiss youth through appearance, language or unfamiliar behaviour. Intelligence becomes something demonstrated through action rather than conformity to an older generation's aesthetic codes. Shik lets the imagery appear foolish before asking who has defined foolishness. A generation may look unserious while possessing forms of technological literacy, social awareness and adaptability unavailable to those judging it.
Rubber ducks, naked bodies, gloves and bathroom light produce an image that initially seems irrational, even absurd. The title asks the viewer to resist that first reaction.
Shik uses visual excess as a test of judgment. Rationality does not mean preferring conventional appearances; it means examining evidence, questioning assumptions and recognising the difference between discomfort and error. The work connects youthful experimentation to critical thinking: intellectual independence often begins by asking why something has been classified as ridiculous before accepting that classification as truth.
A crouched figure looks toward the the other figure from a bathroom while another body intrudes dramatically into the foreground. The composition feels unstable, exposed and faintly catastrophic.
Yet the title refuses catastrophe.
Shik separates emotional atmosphere from empirical reality. Contemporary media environments reward crisis, outrage and exceptional events, making the world appear permanently on the edge of collapse. Optimism here is not denial; it is an insistence that judgment should also consider evidence of longer lives, expanding knowledge and material progress. The work asks whether pessimism sometimes feels more intelligent simply because fear is visually more persuasive than gradual improvement.
Figures occupy the bathroom at different heights and levels of involvement: one bends into reflected light, another sits among rubber ducks, while the cramped environment makes every viewpoint partial.
The work stages a problem central to modern democracy: equal political dignity does not mean identical knowledge. Public judgment gives political legitimacy, but complex empirical questions often require expertise. Shik avoids presenting experts as a new aristocracy; the absurd setting makes everyone visibly human. The difficulty is therefore institutional: how can societies respect democratic participation while recognising that competence matters when decisions depend on specialised evidence?
A young man crouches naked in the shower, compressed into a corner. His intense expression contrasts with the smallness and banality of the space containing him.
Shik turns intellectual potential into a spatial problem. Talent is not enough if institutions fail to recognise, educate or give it room to develop. The image resists the romantic mythology of the isolated genius by showing how easily ability can remain physically and socially constrained. A society that wastes intelligence does not merely fail an individual; it reduces its own future capacity.
Across the diptych, intimate actions unfold with exaggerated physical immediacy: hands, mouths, bodies and domestic objects become part of a messy experiment in being alive.
The title is intentionally elementary. Shik presents youth not as a completed political identity but as activity: testing, making mistakes, desiring, learning and discovering the limits of the self. Progress requires this unfinished condition. A society that asks the young to inherit existing answers without experimentation may preserve order, but it also risks preserving the errors contained within that order.
Hands work directly around another person's mouth and face, creating an image somewhere between experimentation, care and improvised investigation.
Shik turns curiosity into bodily action. Knowledge is not received passively; it requires interference with what seems settled. The title evokes the restless drive behind science, philosophy and art: to test, question and discover. The awkward intimacy of the image prevents inquiry from becoming heroic abstraction. Discovery is often messy, intrusive and uncertain before it becomes knowledge.
Two young faces are caught under the harsh light of a shower, overexposed almost to the point of erasure. Their expressions are direct, but the image itself makes their visibility unstable.
The title points toward generational asymmetry. Political decisions often bind people who had little or no role in making them. Shik connects democratic legitimacy to time: who bears the longest consequences of decisions about climate, debt, technology or institutional reform? The work does not argue that age removes political rights; it asks whether democratic systems adequately incorporate the interests of those who will inhabit the future longest.
Two exposed figures occupy a chaotic kitchen. One holds what appears to be burning or damaged material; another sits with a pan of food, dressed in a bright cartoon-covered garment.
The image places ideology beside basic need. Liberation may sound abstract until political systems stop providing the conditions necessary for ordinary life. Shik's kitchen becomes both domestic infrastructure and prison: old structures are worth preserving only while they continue to serve living people. Freedom here is not destruction for its own sake, but refusal to treat institutional longevity as more important than human function.
A masked figure bends over a pan of food while the second panel isolates a stove, moka pot and cookware in intense warm light.
The title invokes Joseph Schumpeter's concept of creative destruction: innovation advances partly by displacing older structures. Shik brings this economic idea into domestic absurdity. Destruction is not romanticised; somebody remains attached to what already feeds them. The work therefore holds progress and loss together. New systems can create extraordinary gains, but transition has human costs. The political task is not to stop change, but to manage who bears its disruption.
Two bodies sit on a kitchen counter beneath harsh yellow light; costume, exposed skin and exaggerated expression make the scene intentionally unstable and difficult to classify.
Shik treats ignorance less as lack of information than as vulnerability to manipulation. Education provides more than vocational skill: it gives individuals tools for judging claims, recognising coercion and constructing agency. The kitchen again becomes a site of nourishment, but the essential resource is cognitive. A democracy cannot rely entirely on good intentions; citizens need enough knowledge to distinguish argument from manipulation.
A heavily made-up figure holds a battered cooking pot close to the body, staring almost accusingly at the viewer. The theatrical image accompanies a Russian joke in which impoverished Igor receives one wish and chooses not prosperity for himself, but the death of Boris's only goat.
The work isolates destructive envy. Shik distinguishes inequality from the psychology of resentment: dissatisfaction can demand improvement, but it can also prefer another person's loss to one's own gain. A progressive politics must therefore ask not merely whether outcomes are unequal, but whether proposed change actually improves human life.
A domestic kitchen becomes an improvised intellectual stage: one figure sits in a bright red robe among ordinary objects while another stands nude beside her.
The collision of mundane environment and unconventional bodies makes habitual categories feel temporarily unreliable. Shik treats creativity as the ability to reorganise what is already present. “Out of the box” thinking is not eccentricity for its own sake; it is the capacity to question assumptions that have become invisible through repetition. Education capable of producing future solutions must teach people not only what is known, but how to challenge the frame around knowledge.
A nude figure stands in an ordinary domestic room wearing an enormous, absurd creature-like mask. The body remains recognisably human while the head seems to belong to another species or world.
The humour disguises a serious proposition about curiosity. Intellectual exploration begins by temporarily leaving familiar categories. Shik transforms the home into outer space: physical confinement does not necessarily determine the range of imagination. A mind capable of questioning, imagining and connecting ideas can exceed the immediate environment long before the body does.
Bodies overlap on a bed in bright, almost washed-out light. The scene carries the vocabulary of pleasure, consumption and intimacy while the title borrows the language of global branding.
Shik deliberately confuses commercial vitality with lived vitality. Consumer culture is exceptionally skilled at attaching meaning to products, but pleasure and value are not identical. The work asks what remains when inherited advertising messages, social expectations and instant gratification are subjected to reflection. Vitality becomes less the ability to consume endlessly than the capacity to distinguish what genuinely sustains a life.
Young bodies collide across the diptych with almost anarchic energy. Clothing slips, gestures become exaggerated and the images resist respectable self-presentation.
The title captures one necessary stage of intellectual independence: the moment inherited judgment loses some of its power. Shik does not present indifference as a final political philosophy. Rather, refusal creates temporary space in which a person can discover which norms deserve to return. Nonconformity matters when it enables judgment—not when rejection itself becomes another unquestioned identity.
A young man appears with a bright parrot across two closely related portraits. In one he screams or laughs; in the other he withdraws inward, almost tenderly absorbed by the bird.
The diptych refuses to equate nonconformity with permanent rebellion. Authentic independence can be loud or quiet. Shik locates it in the ability to move between social performance and private reflection without allowing either to be dictated entirely from outside. The parrot—an animal famous for repetition—adds an ironic counterpoint: to speak differently is not enough if one is merely repeating a different script.
On Common Knowledge, Compassion, and the Light We Carry.
Part 5.
I believe the destination has always been there: common knowledge. Not naïve unity, but a shared understanding—forged through our collective yearning.
One day, we’ll speak a single language:compassion.
One culture: human.
Without borders, but united in our diversity.
No more seeking answers out there—we’ll hold them within.
We’ll cherish diversity as strength, not threat.
Wield power not for domination, but creation.
See beauty where others see brokenness.
Compassion is not a luxury—it’s a muscle.
Friendship isn’t given—it’s built.
Kindness isn’t innate—it’s chosen.
We won’t live forever, but we can make living enough.
And when darkness falls?..We carry the light inside.
And this is the place where I belong.
Across the diptych, multiple bodies intertwine until individual limbs become difficult to assign. Intimacy creates a collective structure without fully erasing separate people.
Shik borrows the title from a text culturally associated with erotic knowledge but expands sexuality into a model of interdependence. No body in these compositions exists alone; each position depends on another. The work turns physical entanglement into a proposition about plural society: coexistence does not require sameness, but it does require negotiation, vulnerability and awareness that one's freedom takes form among other bodies.
One woman and one transgender woman stand close together in a garden, one elevated in flowing white fabric while the other looks upward and touches her body. Difference is visible without becoming conflict.
Shik treats recognition as an active relationship rather than a declaration of tolerance from a distance. Biological and transgender womanhood meet here without requiring one to invalidate the other. The image proposes a humanist politics in which difference can remain real while common dignity remains stronger. Belonging is created through mutual recognition, not through forcing everyone into the same category.
A transgender woman occupies the centre of a staged reinterpretation of Botticelli's Birth of Venus, flanked by figures who echo the original painting's attendants. The quotation is recognisable, but tattoos, contemporary bodies and photographic excess disrupt Renaissance idealisation.
Shik inserts a historically excluded body into one of Western art's canonical images of beauty. The intervention does more than demand inclusion: it asks whether cultural inheritance remains alive only when it can be revised. Tradition need not be destroyed to change. Here, continuity becomes possible precisely because the old image is allowed to accommodate a new human reality.
A nude figure kneels beside a cut tree trunk in a green landscape, pressing the body against the wood as if listening to or embracing it.
Shik relocates spirituality away from institutional authority and toward embodied relation with life. The divine becomes neither doctrine nor hierarchy but an inward capacity for wonder, connection and ethical orientation. The felled tree complicates the serenity: nature is not merely decorative sanctuary but something humanity can damage. Spirituality therefore becomes meaningful when it deepens responsibility rather than separating believers from one another.
Across the triptych, bodies occupy an overgrown, partially ruined structure while ladders, tools, masks and prismatic colour move the images between intimacy and construction.
The title contrasts the psychologically complex human being with the simplified rational actor of economic modelling. Shik accepts the transformative power of technology and globalisation while resisting the idea that progress can be measured only through efficiency. The figures build, desire, depend and become confused simultaneously. A future designed for abstract “econs” may be elegant; a humanist future must remain capable of accommodating irrational, relational, vulnerable humans.
Three figures form an almost ceremonial vertical composition beneath trees. The central body rises while the others support, surround or respond to it; white fabric crosses the scene like both costume and architecture.
Shik treats culture as something built rather than inherited intact. Traditions provide identity, but cultures also develop through contact, disagreement and reinterpretation. Integration therefore cannot mean freezing either newcomers or established societies inside fixed forms. The image proposes cultural confidence without cultural purity: a shared framework can remain stable enough to connect people while still capable of change.
Three highly saturated images show figures working and moving through a decaying structure, ladders cutting vertically through intense pink, yellow and green light. The scenes resemble both ritual and experiment.
Shik refuses the false choice between human wonder and empirical reason. Belief can provide meaning, but claims about shared reality require evidence capable of being tested. The ladder becomes a model of knowledge: understanding is constructed step by step rather than received whole. Science does not eliminate mystery; it disciplines how humanity makes claims about what is true.
In a dense garden, a standing figure holds a whip-like object over another person crawling on all fours beneath an animal mask. Human domination is translated into an almost primitive hierarchy between bodies.
Shik turns environmental exploitation into a relationship of power. Nature is anthropomorphised precisely so its vulnerability cannot remain abstract. The scene exposes the contradiction of treating the ecosystems sustaining human life as subordinate resources. Environmental responsibility is therefore not separate from humanism: a politics organised around human flourishing must preserve the physical conditions that make flourishing possible.
A nude woman sits within an intensely saturated environment of flowers, paintings and historical references, wearing a fragmented headdress that makes her simultaneously queen, collage and ordinary body.
Unlike earlier works where symbolic elevation threatens to erase personhood, Cleopatra begins to reclaim mythology consciously. The figure does not disappear into the role imposed upon her; she uses the role as material. Shik proposes identity as something that can inherit history without becoming imprisoned by it. Liberation does not require having no symbols—it requires retaining agency over the symbols through which one is seen.
A nude figure emerges from blackness wearing a dark bag-like mask while digital or constructed ravens circle the body. A small ladder glows almost incongruously below.
The work treats knowledge as movement out of obscurity. Ravens carry contradictory associations—death, intelligence, prophecy, communication—and Shik uses that ambiguity rather than resolving it. Common knowledge cannot mean eliminating uncertainty; it means constructing enough shared understanding to move through uncertainty together. The ladder offers no instant escape. As elsewhere in the project, progress is incremental, collective and dependent upon learning how to see.
Two vertically framed scenes place bodies, ladders and ruined wooden architecture inside lush vegetation flooded with unnatural green and rainbow light. The world feels both decayed and newly possible.
As the concluding work, Magic Forest does not offer a purified utopia. The structure is still broken; people still occupy different positions; nature and artifice remain intertwined. What changes is the relationship between difference and possibility. Shik ends with plurality treated as material for construction rather than threat. Common ground is not discovered ready-made. Like the improvised architecture in the photographs, it is something humans must continue building together.
A woman occupies a softly lit, quasi-devotional scene while another body appears close to her, dissolving the boundary between sacred icon and intimate human life.
Shik reclaims religious imagery from rigid definitions of purity. The sacred woman is allowed sexuality, ambiguity and bodily autonomy without ceasing to possess dignity. The work does not attack spirituality; it questions doctrines that require human complexity to be erased before holiness becomes possible. A humanist ethics asks whether reverence can survive contact with real bodies rather than idealised ones.
The diptych contrasts immediate bodily intimacy in a garden with a second image obscured by flowers and shallow focus. One relationship can be seen; the other is filtered through an idealising veil.
Shik distinguishes inherited “values” from values tested against human consequences. Tradition often arrives beautifully packaged, but beauty does not guarantee justice. The work proposes compassion, openness and mutual dignity as criteria by which inherited norms can be judged. Humanist values are not valuable because they are old or new; they matter because of what they allow people to become.
A single red berry appears against intensely green foliage, while the second panel erupts into masked bodies, costume, touch and social disorder.
Nature provides startling simplicity; humanity supplies complication. Shik does not romanticise either condition. The human species creates artifice, hierarchy, intimacy, cruelty, institutions and meaning precisely because it is more than an untouched biological organism. Mankind therefore holds humanism without idealising humans. Common humanity is valuable not because Homo sapiens is naturally good, but because recognising shared vulnerability creates a reason to manage our destructive capacities.
The diptych shows embrace as action: bodies hold one another within a worn architectural environment, and in the larger image a masked or sculptural face complicates the intimacy.
The title insists on grammar. Love is not merely a state one possesses; it is something performed repeatedly through care, protection, attention and responsibility. This distinction matters politically. Compassion cannot remain an abstract value written into a manifesto while institutions behave otherwise. Shik turns tenderness into practice: humanism exists only when it becomes a verb.
A nude figure stands among flowering plants, the body neither hidden nor turned into conventional erotic spectacle. Skin and vegetation occupy the same visual world.
Shik removes sexuality from shame while refusing to remove responsibility from it. The work connects bodily freedom to knowledge: consent, health and autonomy depend upon education rather than silence. A humanist society cannot simultaneously claim respect for individual freedom and withhold the information necessary to exercise that freedom safely. Sex education becomes not moral permissiveness, but infrastructure for informed agency.
Masked figures gather inside an overtly artificial woodland of giant mushrooms, fabric, theatrical props and bodies attempting awkward forms of closeness.
The title invokes the hedgehog's dilemma: creatures seek warmth from one another but risk being hurt by the very closeness they need. Shik makes this social problem playful and unsettling. Human beings construct masks, identities and boundaries partly for protection; those same defences can prevent intimacy. A functioning plural society cannot abolish vulnerability. It must create conditions in which people can approach one another without demanding that every protective difference disappear.
A nude figure reclines against rock and water holding enormous golden fans, the artificial glamour colliding with an almost elemental natural setting.
The title initially suggests submission to another's desire, yet the figure's self-possession complicates that reading. Shik places social ideals of beauty beside the much older fact of an evolved human body. Desire is culturally shaped but also biologically rooted. The work resists the endless correction of bodies toward borrowed standards: humanity already arrives as the product of adaptation, variation and survival.
A brightly painted figure crouches under intense red-orange light. Costume, body paint and theatrical presentation dominate the first impression while much of the surrounding reality remains inaccessible.
The title refers to Daniel Kahneman's WYSIATI—“what you see is all there is”—the tendency to construct confident judgments from the information immediately available. Shik makes that cognitive bias visual. The spectacle gives the viewer enough material to form an opinion before providing enough context to justify one. Common understanding therefore begins with epistemic humility: recognising that the visible fragment is not necessarily the whole.
Two bodies rest against one another in a pale, almost disappearing image. Their contact is quiet rather than theatrical, yet the tattooed and exposed bodies remain unmistakably present.
The title returns to a distinction running through the entire project: belonging, compassion and love can be treated as nouns—things one claims to possess—or as verbs requiring continuous action. Shik chooses the latter. A humane society cannot depend on identity labels alone. Values become politically meaningful when they are practised through institutions, relationships and everyday conduct.
Bodies, a ladder, old architecture and vegetation are almost overwhelmed by bursts of prismatic colour. Concrete reality remains present, but light repeatedly dissolves its boundaries.
The work turns abstraction into a defence of ideas that cannot be photographed directly: justice, freedom, beauty, dignity, progress. Shik's practice is intensely bodily, yet the project ultimately depends upon these invisible concepts. Political life cannot function through material interests alone; societies also require principles capable of organising disagreement. The challenge is to prevent abstractions from becoming dogma while retaining their power to orient action.