A bassinet embedded in a grotto: the first work in the new series titled GOD’S FAVOURITE.
Inside the cradle lies a pigeon, wrapped in white bed linens. As the first bird domesticated by humans—even before chickens and geese—the pigeon was a companion and helper (e.g. carrier pigeons). Today, however, they are often driven out of cities and referred to as “rats with wings.” Still, the dove remains a potent symbol of peace and love. In GOD’S FAVOURITE, the dove is once again entrusted to human care and finds comfort and protection in the cradle—something denied to it for too long. The work’s title references Christian iconography, where the dove represents the Holy Spirit. In both title and execution, the work reveals the ambivalence surrounding how other species oscillate between worship and rejection. It poses the question: who is friend, who is foe? Who is pet, who is livestock? These categorizations appear ever-changing and impermanent.
Feline tongues: elongated, textured silicone sculptures mounted on the walls like relics of a lost temple. They form a surreal, unsettling landscape, both sensual and sacred. Their presence anchors the central proposition: that divinity is not vertical, ruling from above, but horizontal — relational, embodied, and often hidden in the overlooked gestures of care, desire, and survival.
The cat tongue, at once tender and fierce, carries multiple registers. It is maternal: the first gesture of care for a newborn, cleaning, warming, protecting. It is erotic: the site of intimacy and longing. It is political: the instrument of voice, protest, and refusal. These tongues do not speak in human words, but they resonate with power, demanding recognition of a language that resists translation.
Throughout history, cats have carried this ambivalence. Worshiped in ancient Egypt as divine guardians, persecuted in medieval Europe as companions of witches, they embody sovereignty that cannot be tamed. Always feminized, always elusive, the cat exists at the threshold between the domestic and the wild, between devotion and fear. By monumentalizing their tongues, Anouk Lamm Anouk reclaims this figure as a spiritual authority, not as a pet, nor a demon, but as a protector whose power lies in ambiguity.
The tongues are not mere symbols; they are organs of contact. They blur the boundaries between care and consumption, gentleness and abrasion, language and silence. They remind us that touch — sometimes rough, sometimes soft — can be a form of knowledge, a way of writing without words. In this sense, they form a queer archive: a collection of gestures, sensations, and resistances that mainstream history has tried to erase.
In Angels never die, we are invited to follow a white poodle—just as Alice follows the ever-hurried White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland. Traditionally, white symbolizes purity, innocence, and lightness. Yet in Lewis Carroll’s tale, the white rabbit also embodies anxiety, urgency, speed, and pressure—apt metaphors for the world we live in today. Always in a rush, and yet always too late. Never enough, even when we give everything. Is that healthy? Animals, by contrast, stand for slowness, presence, and mindfulness. What we might learn from them is how to fully inhabit the present moment—and through that, rediscover the power of our own vitality. In Anouk’s world, the white rabbit becomes the white poodle. Poodles are an ancient breed, first described in 1555 by Conrad Gessner. With their high-maintenance coats, they epitomize domestication—but like all animals, they embody presence, here and now. The second dog Anouk ever had, and the first as a young adult, was a small white poodle named Ava.
Angels never die.
Socio-cultural structures and traditional hierarchies are a questioned in the Herd N°2, a sculptural installation of transparent sky-horses. In Greek mythology, the sky-horses pull the chariot of the god Helios, symbolizing the sun’s passage from east to west, from dawn to dusk—a metaphor for transience. These mythological beings are both present and absent. Their translucent materiality and minimal figurativeness represent their absence in our physical world and their presence in our imagination, myths, and stories.
The horse herd also serves Anouk as a symbol of matriarchy. Unlike most human societies, horse herds are matriarchal—led by an experienced mare whose authority stems from inner calm. This contrasts with human concepts of leadership, often rooted in action, dominance, and superficial associations with masculinity.
“Human friendly” is a new edition of 80 wall sculptures crafted in the style of classical brass signs.
The text is adapted from pre-existing public notices — those familiar everyday signs that declare a place to be “dog friendly.” In this work, only a single word has been altered: “dog” becomes “human.” This subtle yet decisive shift exposes the contradiction inherent in such formulations. It acts as a mirror, reflecting the paradoxical relationship that humans — still deeply entangled in speciesist thinking — maintain with their fellow living beings.
By merely changing one word, the work invites viewers to question the assumed hierarchy between species, and the anthropocentric framework that governs our perception of coexistence. The notion of “friendliness” is revealed as a self-serving construct — an expression of human dominance disguised as benevolence. The sculptures gently mock the comforting image of humanity as kind or compassionate toward other species, revealing instead an attitude rooted in control, ownership, and selective empathy.
In this way, “Human friendly” becomes both a poetic and critical gesture. It transforms a banal linguistic formula into a space of reflection, compelling the observer to reconsider what it truly means to live in friendly relation — not only with humans, but with all beings who share our world.
MOTHER N°1, Installation, 9 Piglet Sculptures in 9 Hospital Bassinets
Inflatable Sculpture, 400x400x150cm
