One image of a library. No instructions. No explanation. Inside it: layers of steganography, encrypted data, and dead drops planted across 15+ countries.

Hundreds of participants solved it layer by layer. The final solve unlocked a hyperobject, a piece so distributed that no single person could perceive it entirely.

The work only exists because they did.

A pink toilet split in half by the Israeli-West Bank border. Installed on-site where a political boundary intersects with the most basic human needs.

The object means nothing. Where it sits means everything. That gap is the work.

A legal dispute with the Danish tax authorities. The charge: this isn't art.

The venue: a courtroom. The audience: lawyers, bureaucrats, and a judge. The most exclusive exhibition I've ever had. No invitation. No vernissage.

Just a government deciding what art is, on the record, with consequences. The case was meant to shut the work down. It became the work.