About the work

The iguana, poised on the bone, seems to survey not just the road, but the whole absurd enterprise of its paving. One horn of the skull is gone, and this absence mirrors the larger, deeper absence of the desert this road has claimed. The fresh tar, the pristine manhole cover—these are declarations of a human will to impose order, to smooth over what was, to seal it away. Yet, the iguana remains, a tiny, ancient sentinel, its scales the color of the very sand buried beneath the asphalt. It is a reminder that some things, however small, persist, even thrive, on the detritus of progress, finding their own kind of perch amidst the vanishing and the newly laid. The iguana doesn't resist; it simply occupies what is left, and in doing so, reveals the fragility of every man-made surface.