Installed in the middle of a red fabricated intimate space, a kind of shrine-like installation, I will be masking my skin with a variety of cold cuts from head to toe, raw juicy and some dryer than others. Roast beef, salami, ham, bologna, prosciutto, turkey and sausage. Inside out from visceral aesthetic to a wearable object, I will cover myself into a palette of pinks, both trying to make the disgusting or the fake meat ultimately beautiful and eat myself away afterwards by consuming my own dress of skins. After being naked, then covered in meat, will be eating my second skin away as I peel it off my eating it right off my skin sitting, kneeling and lying on the ground faking a ritual of self-love and affection. What does it mean to see inside yourself, to consume the most disgusting not fresh meat you usually get to eat in a sandwich between two cold pieces of white bread? Hopefully, a reflection will insure on the state of visceral dissatisfaction the world is presently in. L.M.C.Q.I.S: "She likes her thighs" is a Fench wordplay if you read the letters in sequence it adds up into a sentence with a meaning.

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