Suspended in an artificial, cotton-candy field of pink, the reptilian-headed figure sits like an actor between takes—half idol, half specimen—his green anatomy rendered with a clinical clarity that turns flesh into costume. The intrusive clapperboard and the drifting flies fracture any illusion of naturalness, insisting that identity here is staged, edited, and repeatedly re-shot under a gaze that never quite relents. By yoking seduction to unease—cool green against feverish magenta—the work suggests metamorphosis not as liberation but as production: a manufactured self caught in the glare of its own making.