Business Studies is a case file of soft systems and harder delusions. These works began as velocity—sketchbook fragments, flickering heads, prototypes pitched into the future. Some were stalled by cost. Others by context. Many were reimagined, not abandoned. The language of progress clings to them: timelines, targets, decks of hopeful strategy. KPIs press against intention until the edges blur. What survives is less a product than a trace. A paper trail of ambition—creased, redacted, half-realised. Not failure, exactly. Not quite invention. Something that moves in the space between.
FLUF-L@B’s Zodiac Series reimagines the twelve animals of the Chinese zodiac as kinetic sculptures—each one an emotional archetype, estranged from tradition but haunted by it.
These creatures don’t gallop or roar. They tremble, stare, rock, or lean. Some are grotesque, others tender. All are unsettled.
Constructed with fiberglass, rubber, sensors, and reclaimed materials, each form blurs the line between myth and mechanism. Their movement is slow, hesitant, or startling—controlled by pneumatics and programmed tension. This is not a celebration of the zodiac but a study in dislocation: cultural, biological, and emotional. FLUF-L@B’s zodiac is captive, reactive, and disturbingly alive.
A delivery tricycle becomes a robot. A welded frame starts to resemble a torso, its balance shifting, joints aligning — as if preparing to rise. Objects in Flux captures the moment when a working object hints at something more than function.
These pieces begin as infrastructure: scooters, carts, frames designed for movement, for load-bearing, for speed through narrow gaps. They are everywhere — often overlooked, sometimes resented. Always in motion.
But here, they pause. Reconfigured, rebalanced, they take on new postures. A scooter frame gains presence. A basket stiffens into a jaw. The machine begins to echo the person who rode it — anonymous, vital, and just outside the frame.
Objects in Flux doesn’t monumentalise. It simply repositions. These are not heroic forms, but figures of transformation — part human, part machine, part unnoticed structure holding a city together.
These are not blueprints. They are transmissions. Feels gathers prints and sketches formed first in sleep—images dreamt before drawn. They come from a place before logic, before material, before language. Some of these works would later become sculpture. Others remain as echoes, emotional outlines.
Unbuilt Machines documents prototypes that never quite achieved lift-off — devices imagined with conviction but flawed in execution. Inspired by early inventors, speculative patents, and obsolete futures, these works exist in a suspended state between ambition and failure.
Some are powered, some are stuck. A lever connects to nothing. A gear turns too late. The illusion of purpose remains intact — but only just.
These machines aren’t satirical. They carry genuine hope, even if misdirected. They nod to a time when invention was romantic, dangerous, and usually personal — when flight could be tested in a field with cloth wings and a dream.
Unbuilt Machines invites viewers to consider not how something works, but why it was built in the first place. They’re mechanisms not of efficiency, but of belief. Their failure is part of the point — not tragic, but revealing. A different kind of logic, briefly made visible.
Stay/Go collects works that have waited. Made in another time, then left behind, they now return with a different kind of gravity. The series sits between impulse and hesitation — between what was once urgent, and what still lingers.
These are not grand gestures. They’re quiet, ambivalent forms. A suggestion of movement. A posture that could mean leaving or arriving. They don’t declare intention — they hover in it.
The title isn’t a question. It’s a state. Stay/Go resists resolution. These pieces were never meant to be final, and they still aren’t.
Re-seen now, they carry both their past and their incompletion — not as weakness, but as form.
Prejudice in Parallel explores the illusion of fairness through the language of diagrams. Charts, graphs, and side-by-side comparisons suggest clarity — but here, the categories collapse.
A timeline of unrelated things. A pie chart of contradictory feelings. A bar graph measuring softness against intent. The works mimic the tone of objectivity while deliberately withholding any real conclusion.
These are not jokes. Or rather, they are — but serious ones. They expose the way comparison becomes a tool for bias, how structure can be weaponized, and how absurdity often hides behind official design.
Prejudice in Parallel doesn’t try to resolve anything. It stages encounters between things that never asked to be compared. The logic breaks down quietly, but beautifully. The prejudice was built in from the start.
Posters, slogans, stunts, and almost-campaigns. Flyers is a collection of promotional fragments created to support FLUF-L@B — some used, some abandoned, some made just to see how it felt. A quiet archive of visibility.
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