The chicken

‘How I met death’

When I was young I visited my grandfather daily. We owned two big coops. Little chickens were in there and were picked up for slaughter six weeks later. I used to help my grandfather clean up the dead chickens in the coop. On that farm is where I met death for the first time, it was all very innocent to me. My first impression of death is the coldness of the chicken legs in my hand and the heavy weight on my arms. I translated this first meeting into a bracelet of bronze, with the weight of one death chicken (1794 grams) and with a real chicken leg integrated.