Tteo Zavaglia

Fully enveloped in the figures of a body I created. Smooth, soft edges. Reclusive, mechanical redesigns. I am stuck here, with that screen hovering over my head. I dive inside.

Start here, within the perpetual fission of doorways and rooms. I am lost in a home of my own making.

Two generations of mothers, won from fathers.

Keep yourself grounded, with an ear to the floor. There are those who wish to deafen you from the earthquakes.

Still somehow the slightest touch of a stranger can set up trembling in my bones. I know no one's going to show me everything.

A series of 21 short video art films, presented in three rotating groups of seven. Each piece runs under two minutes, pairing digital visuals with music to explore themes of isolation, atmosphere, and dissociation. The editing process involved a deliberate erasure of original footage and timelines, leaving only the saved project files as source material. This method draws out a more instinctive, machine-driven visual language—revealing how the editing software itself responds, reinterprets, and distorts memory and intention.

Lay in bed, two kittens on my windowsill.

They spent five hours dining and spent the early morning after driving home. The hours folded in on themselves, leaving only the trace of warmth and noise. The whole had scattered, something faintly remembered, already slipping.