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๐“ฒ ๐“ธ๐“ท๐“ต๐”‚ ๐”€๐“ช๐“ท๐“ฝ ๐“ฒ๐“ฝ ๐”€๐“ฑ๐“ฎ๐“ท ๐“ฒ๐“ฝ ๐“ฏ๐“ฎ๐“ฎ๐“ต๐“ผ ๐“ต๐“ฒ๐“ด๐“ฎ ๐“ฝ๐“ฑ๐“ฒ๐“ผ



A lesbian cyberscape of cascading longing: resin sculptures leak from portal screens, a waterfall pools across the gallery floor, and a digital avatar watches over the overflow as the installation makes visible the queer desire, tenderness, and community that flow through the internet as an ever-present spring.


i only want it when it feels like this (2024) is a full-room installation assembling nine resin sculptures, three video works, 3D prints, ambient water sound, fabric, collected objects, and LED light into a lesbian-coded cyberscape of overflowing desire. The work materializes the internet as a tidal field of becoming: a purple-blue waterfall cascades from ceiling to floor, pooling into an iridescent tide from which two screens emerge as portals between states of matter and modes of longing. Sculptures leak outward from the edges of the screens, shaped and carried by the perpetual current of digital flow. A figure reaches through the veil of falling water, visible from behind and through its dissolution, a body half-submerged in the threshold between worlds. Hatsune Miku's sakura avatar presides over the pool as tutelary spirit of networked feeling, a goddess of anonymous community. On the wall, the declaration i only want it when it feels like thisinscribes itself as queer territorial mark, as lyrical claim on the surface of the possible.

Drawing on Deleuze and Guattari's conceptualization of desire as a productive, machinic flow rather than a deprivation-structured economy, the installation enacts desire as something that seeps, overflows, pools, and cascades of its own irresistible force. Desire in this work is always already moving, always exceeding its banks, always discovering the next channel through which intensity may travel. The space itself functions as a Body without Organs assembled from desiring-machines in continuous relation: the screen as permeable membrane, the avatar as partial object, the waterfall as libidinal current, the resin sculpture as desire crystallized mid-flow.

The internet operates here as what Mark Fisher would recognize as a site where the utopian impulse refuses deferral and insists on present-tense inhabitation. Within the online aquatic field constructed, the anonymity of the avatar functions as a technology of self-construction rather than erasure, a vessel through which queer configurations of gender and sexuality are explored, repeated, and intensified. The fixed coordinates of heteronormative embodiment dissolve in the liquid environment the installation proposes; identity becomes a tidal process, pulling in and releasing, always provisional, always in motion toward new form.

The work draws on the deep archive of lesbian poetics from Sappho through to the contemporary, locating desire in the elemental: water, skin, breath, the perceptual blur of bodies submerged together until the boundary between self and other becomes undecidable. The poem embedded in the work traces this phenomenology of dissolution with precision: i can not tell where my body ends and yours begins, we're melting into one. This is queer futurity understood not as projection onto a horizon deferred but as a current already running through the present, already connecting bodies across screens, already producing the community it also yearns for.

The installation thinks through the logic of wetware, situating subjectivity in the saturated zone where biology and technology saturate each other, where the body is already screen and the screen is already capable of tenderness. Touch here becomes a field of continuous intensity flowing across physical and digital registers simultaneously, leaking from one state into another, refusing the hierarchy that would place one above the other. The sakura avatar, the reaching hand, the sculpture spilling from the portal: these are figures of queer desire finding form in the overflow, in the refusal to remain contained within a single medium, body, or world.

i only want it when it feels like this presents the internet as a living spring: a source of queer possibility, of belonging and erotic community, where shared feeling circulates freely between bodies, avatars, sculptures, and screens. The installation enacts utopia as lived infrastructure, already flowing, already here, already touching you through the surface.