Mutant Series: Sculpting the Dualities of Humanity 

I work under the title Mutant. The word itself suggests something aberrant, irregular, estranged from what we call “normal.” Yet for me, the mutant is not an anomaly—it is a mirror. Through these forms, I attempt to reveal how truth becomes distorted by human selfishness and desire, how power quietly reorganizes morality, and how the world bends under invisible hierarchies. My sculptures speak of duality: the refined surface of civilization and the instinct that lurks beneath it. 

The wall-mounted heads, for example, originate from the tradition of trophy hunting—animal heads displayed in affluent interiors as symbols of conquest. I have always sensed an unspoken authority in such objects, a silent intimidation. They are not merely decorative; they declare dominance. In this sense, my work intersects with questions raised by Michel Foucault—who defines what is “normal,” who labels the “abnormal,” and how power operates through those definitions. The mutant, in my practice, becomes a philosophical proposition: a body that resists classification. 

My journey began in reverence for traditional sculpture. I once aspired to shape marble and bronze, to stand in continuity with the masters. But in 2002, while traveling through Italy, I encountered Michelangelo’s David. Standing before that monument of perfection, I felt an unexpected collapse within myself. The work was so complete, so absolute, that I lost the confidence to look at it any longer. In the presence of such mastery, my ambition seemed unbearably small. After confronting the achievements of Michelangelo and Rodin, I realized that clay, bronze, and marble had already been pushed to their limits. To use them would mean speaking in a language perfected by others. 

Yet surrender was not an option. I did not wish to imitate the summit of sculpture; I wanted to search for its continuation. I needed a material that belonged unmistakably to my own era. I found it in discarded tires. Tires possess extraordinary textures and structural resilience. They are industrial skin—patterns molded by movement, friction, velocity. More importantly, they allow me to cut, layer, and reconstruct freely. In them, I discovered both resistance and possibility. Influenced by the concept of the “objet” after Marcel Duchamp, I recognized that material itself could carry conceptual weight. Through rubber, I could claim authorship of a new sculptural vocabulary. 

With tires, I seek to approach the technical and formal heights achieved by the masters—yet through a substance born of industry and consumption. My ambition is not nostalgia, but contemporaneity: to inscribe the spirit of our time into form. 

My subjects— insects, fish, herbivores, carnivores, omnivores—are drawn from the principle of survival of the fittest. I construct only the powerful, the ones that endure. Yet these animals are not zoological studies. They are metaphors. They embody human ambition, aggression, vanity. The exaggerated musculature of a jaguar’s shoulders, for instance, becomes a symbol of authority and display—an embodiment of power that is both seductive and menacing. Through emphasis and distortion, I build my own sculptural language, one that reflects a world increasingly distant from justice and truth. The ideals of innocence I once held have been replaced by landscapes of corruption, falsehood, hatred, and manipulated power. These realities inhabit my forms. 

In recent years, my creatures have evolved into mutations—hybrid beings, altered anatomies reminiscent of centaurs or sphinxes. Viewers often confess discomfort or fear. I understand this reaction. But the unease does not originate in fantasy; it arises from our present condition. Genetic engineering, environmental degradation, technological excess—these are not myths. They are facts. We live in an age where the boundaries of life are manipulated, where the consequences remain uncertain. And yet, society proceeds with indifference, driven by ambition and distorted desire.

Through mutation, I do not seek shock for its own sake. I seek confrontation. I want to expose the fragility of what we call order, to question the authority that defines normality, to reveal the cost of ambition divorced from ethics. My sculptures insist that although truth may appear eclipsed—buried beneath noise and spectacle—it remains operative, like the laws of nature or the structure of the cosmos. Whether acknowledged or not, it governs us. 

The mutant, therefore, is not a monster. It is evidence. It is the visible trace of invisible forces—desire, power, fear—reshaping our world. Through it, I continue my search for a sculptural form that belongs unmistakably to our time, and for a language capable of restoring a dialogue with truth.