I placed the animal inside a massive cage. In doing so, I created a kind of zoo—a space of observation, separation, and control. As the observer, I maintain a limited relationship with the animal, one that is shaped and constrained by the boundaries of this man-made structure.
The iron cage functions not only as a physical prison but also as a symbol of confinement and exclusion. It reflects how animals, once part of our shared environment, are now gradually pushed to the periphery of human society—contained, regulated, and distanced.
What captivates me is the way animals look at humans. Their gaze is often still, direct, and unwavering. They observe other species too, of course, but there is something different in the way they look at us—something that feels intentional. Strikingly, it is only humans who recognize this look for what it is. Other animals may shy away from such a stare, but humans meet it, understand it. In that moment, something unspoken is exchanged—a quiet, intense recognition. A gaze that cuts through the bars.
