¹ A stereoscopic photograph consists of two images with a slight parallax, creating the illusion of depth when viewed with a stereoscopic viewer.




² A loculus is a niche in a catacomb or columbarium—a rectangular recess in stone, just large enough to hold a single body or an urn. The title of this work refers to this architecture of preservation: the intimate burial chamber, an individual compartment within the larger order of death.

This relief brings together three different stereoscopic photographs¹. The first is an image of a child  on a papier-mâché moon—a whimsical studio prop that appeared in photographic studios throughout the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, evoking fantasy and innocence. The second is an anatomical photograph of an opened skull, exposing its interior to scientific observation, reducing the child to a specimen. On the far right appears an astronomical photograph of the moon itself: cold, cratered and uninhabitable.

These disparate images are brought together in Loculus Cyclopis² (2026), constituting a sarcophagus panel, cast as a relief and finished with bronze, oxidation and wax. The composition is structured by the arched outlines of the original stereoscopic cards—the curved edges of the photographic prints once mounted onto cardboard. In stereoscopy, these arches framed the viewer’s field of vision and reinforced the illusion of depth. Here, however, only one half of each stereoscopic pair remains. No longer producing spatial illusion, the arches instead echo the rounded forms of the tomb, the loculus and the architecture of burial itself. The viewing window becomes a burial chamber.

What remains is a some kind of monument —not carved in stone, but assembled from images that were never meant to belong together.