DINNER

DINNER began during a period when my lungs would seize without warning. I was coughing nonstop from undiagnosed adult-onset asthma, and the simple act of eating became a negotiation with breath. The medical mask was both a necessity and a provocation. It turned every movement of the jaw into something theatrical, absurd, and faintly tragic. The performance balanced humor with suffocation. A man trying to eat while fighting for air looks almost comical at first, yet the comedy collapses into something raw. The mask became a tiny protest against erasure. Illness is often hidden away, smoothed over, made palatable for others. Here, the private struggle for air was made visible and public. The audience watched me try to complete one of the most basic human rituals while the body malfunctioned. DINNER asked a simple question: What happens when survival becomes the performance, and the performance becomes the witness to a body refusing to be invisible.

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