About the work

The badger, head down, ignores the sterile glare of the fluorescent lights. It is so clearly not meant to be here, an intrusion of the wild into the controlled, antiseptic space of human care. This animal, focused solely on the discarded wrapper, embodies an unbroken link to instinct, to a hunger that predates all our careful systems. There’s a quiet horror in its presence, not because it’s dangerous, but because it exposes the fragility of the human construct—this clean, polished room where a nurse prepares for another shift. The fog outside is not just weather; it's a mood, a thin membrane between the human attempt at order and the relentless, snuffling world beyond. We build our hospitals, but the forest always finds a way in, reminding us of the limits of our dominion, even over the smallest hunger.