Fluidity as a State of Being: Generative Disruption of the Everyday
Anna Floto
October 2025
In this thesina, I will explore the themes that most inspire me and that are linked with my artistic discourse: The Everyday, Natural Forms and Processes, Communication, Invitations and Accessibility into Artistic spaces, Limitations and Rules, Chance and the Unknown, and Collaboration and Co-Creation. Within each of these elements, I argue that disruption- understood not as undoing but as a gentle alteration or ripple, opens new perspectives and creates generative ways of being. Using personal observations, anecdotes, experiences and theorist and artistic references, I weave these themes together with my artistic research- manifested in happenings, paintings, performative tattoos, and collaborative projects. My aim is to empower the reader to notice, to question, and to gently nudge the everyday into new forms: to see disruption not as harm, but as a beneficial insight into how we live. These ripples of disruption can operate on different spatial and temporal scales, sometimes producing an immediate effect in a specific interaction, and other times unfolding gradually or influencing larger contexts over longer periods. In this way, disruption is not fixed in size or duration but remains open, variable, and responsive to its surroundings.
The Everyday is both authentic and democratic. It is the space where ordinary people engage with the world creatively, shaping and transforming it through repeated interactions. Paying attention to these entanglements-the small, often unnoticed connections between people, objects, and spaces, can reveal pathways for connection and collective living. Art that engages the everyday highlights these possibilities, showing us both what we take for granted and what can be opened to new ways of experiencing and relating.
Theorists have explored the everyday in ways that illuminate its complexity. Henri Lefebvre describes the everyday as “inexhaustible, always open-ended, and eluding structures,” suggesting that it is a space where repetition and creativity confront each other. For Lefebvre, art acts as a “play-generating yeast” in the everyday, disrupting routines, suggesting alternative uses, and producing new ways of perceiving the world. Together, these perspectives underscore how the everyday, far from trivial, is a fertile ground for invention, inspiration, and relatable ways of being.
Contemporary artists have similarly emphasised the creative potential of everyday scenarios. In Richard Wentworth’s photographic series Making Do and Getting By, he documents accidental arrangements, geometric coincidences, and uncanny occurrences in the everyday that usually go unnoticed. Wentworth’s work highlights how attention to ordinary objects and contexts can reveal unforeseen relationships and aesthetic possibilities.
In my personal ‘Everyday’, I am extremely drawn to chairs which have been thrown out onto the street and their placement in relation to other chairs and elements in their surroundings. I feel as though these uncurated scenarios can be relatable to personal connections and situations within human relationships.
Walead Beshty’s FedEx Boxes expose processes of mundane everyday activities, transport, handling, and chance, to shape physical objects by shipping glass boxes through the FedEx system, creating unpredictable forms and patterns. This exemplifies how the everyday-objects, processes, and interactions, can be harnessed as both medium and collaborator in artistic practice.
Inspired by these themes of unpredictability and open-endedness, I created Absorb & Digest, an action that involved me sitting on a bench in Barcelona and drawing my surroundings for an hour, capturing spontaneous and mundane scenarios as they unfolded naturally. These drawings were then compiled into a handmade book, which I left on the same bench three weeks later. Not knowing what would happen next was essential: the book invited the public to engage, creating an organic connection between observer and observed, and highlighting the everyday as a space of flux, attention, and gentle disruption.
Another project Dinner with Familiar Strangers was based on a simple but often ignored concept: Familiar Strangers. These are people we see regularly, such as on the street, at a shop, or during our commute, but never interact with. The social norms of public life tell us to look but not engage. I started noticing the same people again and again in my daily routine- neighbours, the guy who works at the 24-hour supermarket, people who come into my workplace. Over time, these people have become part of the structure of my life, influencing how I perceive my surroundings, without ever having a proper conversation. I decided to invite 15 of them to dinner. These were people I’d never really spoken to but who had been part of my daily life for two years. I was the only common link between them. Most of them didn’t know each other, and some didn’t even know me by name. The dinner was a way of breaking the usual pattern and giving recognition to this relationship which is usually unnoticed. It was also a test: what happens when you disrupt this mutual ignoring? The dinner was awkward at first, but it worked. People stayed, talked, and connected. The piece didn’t have a strict outcome, but for me, it changed how I feel in the city. Now, I say hi to these people when we bump into each other in public. We talk. I feel more connected to my surroundings. The piece wasn’t about creating a physical object. It was about creating a shift in everyday life, connecting to Donna Haraway’s idea “companion species.” While Haraway originally used this term to talk about humans and animals, I see familiar strangers as a type of urban companion species. These are beings we live with who affect us and who we’re connected to, even if we don’t speak. This piece is a formula that anyone could apply. Everyone has their own familiar strangers. The idea is to notice them, acknowledge them, find a way to engage to create a possible safer, more connected environment within the urban scene.
Ultimately, the everyday in my work functions simultaneously as inspiration, material, and medium. By observing what is already present, creating interventions that amplify mundane or unnoticed moments, and embracing unpredictability, these actions can ripple outward to generate encounters, insights, and connections. Through this approach, the everyday is revealed as a space of possibility: open-ended, relational, and generative, where art and life intersect. By focusing on it, artists and observers alike can reveal what is often overlooked and create openings for creativity, reflection, and relationality.
Just as in urban environments, where unnoticed social patterns reveal relational dynamics, natural forms offer a similarly complex system of interactions, traces, and ecosystems that invite attention and interpretation. Forms in nature are never permanent, and they are always evolving, transformed and weathered by external elements.
By witnessing the still moments that occur during these processes of transformation. I translate them into my own language through drawings, paintings, and tattooing, aiming to create a new being and perspective.
Through my drawings, tattooing, and paintings, I aim to capture forms as I observe them, how they sit in that moment in time within their environment, fully aware that they will never be the same again due to the constant state of flux.
In a piece I performed Permanent Passing, this awareness extends to the body itself: the tattooed image freezes a transient form in a moment of observation, acknowledging both its impermanence and the continual transformations it undergoes in the world. My practice, therefore, seeks not to create fixed representations but to translate the fluid, relational nature of forms into visual and bodily experience, capturing the interplay between what is present, what is passing, and what endures.
Permanent Passing is a live performance exploring the tension between permanence and impermanence through the act of tattooing. In this piece, I attached a delicate flower to the gallery wall, a temporary, organic form and then hand-drew its image as a tattoo on a friend’s back. This intimate act transforms a fleeting natural object into a lasting mark on the human body, uniting the ephemeral with the enduring and highlighting the relational dynamics between observation, formation, and temporarity.
Organic forms exist everywhere in nature, but it is our response to them that gives them meaning and structure. Forms are never permanent, their time of change can be a second or ten thousand years, and they are always evolving. By observing these still moments in the process of transformation, I translate them into my own language through drawings, paintings, and photographs.
Nicolas Bourriaud, in his work on relational aesthetics, writes: “There are no forms in nature, in the wild state, as it is our gaze that creates these, by cutting them out in the depth of the visible. Forms are developed, one from another. What was yesterday regarded as formless or ‘informal’ is no longer these things today.” This idea resonates strongly with my practice: it is not only what exists in nature, but how we perceive, engage with, and interpret it that brings form into being.
In my work, I am drawn to objects and scenarios that exhibit organic qualities, not only because they derive from nature but because they emerge unforced, shaped and weathered by elements over time. Natural forces such as wind, rain, or erosion leave their traces, but so too do human actions within the urban environment, often unconscious and unplanned.
The spaces between plants change daily, shaped by natural forces, and rocks are eroded over centuries, holding traces of stories. I am particularly drawn to natural weathering over conscious human-made alteration, forms shaped by time, elements, and organic interactions. In the same way, I find beauty in those street-level scenarios where human presence is inscribed indirectly, through habit or accident rather than intention.
During my residency at Can Serrat in the autumn of 2024, at the foothills of Montserrat in the one-streeted town of El Bruc, I had the opportunity to immerse myself in the mountain’s presence. I was fascinated by the natural marks and outstretched shapes of the rocks and created observational drawings which then evolved into paintings studying the forms and how they can be captured and altered through our perspective to create something new.
These explorations also led me to consider how natural forms have inspired architecture, particularly modernist approaches. Modernist architects often translated the fluidity and rhythm of nature into concrete, creating structures that mimic organic lines, undulations, and curves. The buildings and public spaces that surround us can carry echoes of natural forms, reminding us that the urban environment is not separate from the rhythms and gestures of the natural world, but rather shaped by it. Building on this, I conducted an experimental project in which I reinserted these painted natural formations into the city, photographing them as they interacted with urban structures and surfaces. By relocating organic shapes into artificial settings, I explored how context transforms perception: a form familiar in nature becomes uncanny or intriguing in the city. These interventions emphasised the relational quality of form, artwork was not only the painting itself, but also the dialogue it created with its surroundings. Through this, I aimed to draw attention to overlooked details in the urban environment, showing how small disruptions can open new perspectives and connections.
By observing, intervening, and recontextualising natural forms and the changes they undergo, allows me to highlight patterns, relationships, and subtleties that are often overlooked. My drawings, paintings, and tattooing operate as tools to translate this fluidity, unpredictability, and organic interconnectedness into a new visual and conceptual language.
Since moving to a country where the languages are not my mother tongue, I’ve really learned the importance of communication. Language creates boundaries, and navigating them has been central to my experience living in Spain and Catalunya. Learning Spanish and Catalan has been slow, frustrating, and sometimes exhausting, but it’s also given me the confidence to include the public in my work in ways I couldn’t have done before. When one cannot communicate one feels detached from your surroundings, from locals, from culture, and even from politics. Technology can help on the surface, but real learning comes from immersion- making mistakes, being corrected, and figuring things out as you go.
For me, this process has been playful, awkward, and at times deeply embarrassing. I would write down new words and try to make sense of them through small experiments: conversations with strangers, asking for directions, or attempting simple jokes. These daily linguistic experiments gradually became material for my artwork. Whilst at work in my hospitality job, I started collecting words, playing with their sounds, and assembling them into “badly written” Catalan poems. They were messy, often nonsensical but producing something interesting. One poem, for example, inspired my piece 12 Hour Soup: “
“Dilluns s’acabat,
Ara veig al meu gat,
Tot al dia pluja, pluja, pluja,
M’agradia ser una bruxa,
Lavors podria fer una sopa,
Y donala a tota europa”
I began incorporating these poems into paintings of daily life. The errors and awkward constructions, rather than weakening the work, became an essential part of it. They reflected the learning process itself, the trial, the failure, the miscommunication and created unexpected patterns and new perspectives. Mistakes were generative. They allowed me to explore language, learning, and communication as something living, messy, and relational.
This approach connects to Donna Haraway’s ecofeminist concept of diffraction: difference is not separation but a pattern of entangled relations. Missteps, misunderstandings, and linguistic failures are not dead ends—they are sites of connection, play, and creation.
By using my daily life as material- struggles with language, my attempts to communicate, my practice deliberately blurs the line between art and life. Art is not separate from living; it emerges from it. Painting, writing, performing, and interacting are all intertwined, and mistakes, awkwardness, and experimentation become not just content but method. Learning through doing, experimenting with language and embracing discomfort—is also a feminist-inspired approach. Knowledge is absorbed by participating, making mistakes, and being corrected, not by passively observing or reading instructions. By putting myself out of my comfort zone, I gained confidence, built connections, and opened up possibilities for my artwork. Communication, for me, isn’t just about conveying information. It’s a tool to break the everyday, to create moments, interactions, and relationships that wouldn’t exist otherwise. My paintings, poems, and performances show that even messy, imperfect language can generate meaning, connection, and new ways of seeing. And sometimes, those mistakes are exactly what make it beautiful. Through these experiences, I’ve come to see language as another medium for disrupting the everyday. My language-based work disrupts habitual ways of speaking, understanding, and relating. In each case, disruption- whether visual, spatial, linguistic, or social- creates the possibility for new perspectives, new connections, and new experiences.
How can art move beyond representation and become a tool for change? This question sits at the core of my practice. Representation can be powerful, but it can also flatten complexity, mislead, or even erase. I am interested in what happens when art stops standing in for something and instead creates situations, encounters, and dynamics that can shift how people relate to each other and the world. This shift is not only about content but about method- working with materials, spaces, and people in ways that make room for participation, conversation, and shared experience.
The work is not a static object but a set of relations, shaped as much by those who enter it as by the artist who sets it in motion. I have often heard people say they don’t go to art exhibitions because they “don’t understand art” and therefore may not feel welcomed or like they belong.
This observation has guided my approach to creating participatory work, where the audience contributes to the artwork, and in turn, feel a sense of belonging. I aim to design spaces and projects where people feel included, where engagement is encouraged and the boundaries between artist, audience, and artwork are softened. For example, outside MACBA in Barcelona, I interviewed 15 skaters over the course of an hour, asking how long they had been coming to skate and whether they had ever entered the museum. None had. After each interview, I offered them free entry, creating an opportunity for connection and participation. These small gestures highlight the role of accessibility, shared experience, and inclusion as integral to my practice.
Transcript
Location: Outside MACBA, Barcelona
Participant: Skater
Interviewer: Anna Floto
Anna: Hi! I’m doing a short project about MACBA and public access. Can I ask you a few quick questions?
Skater: Sure.
Anna: How long have you been coming to MACBA to skate?
Skater: Um… about six years now, maybe more.
Anna: That’s a long time! Have you ever actually gone inside the museum?
Skater: No… never, I don’t think I’d understand it and the security always look at us weirdly
Anna: Interesting, thank you. Do you ever feel like the museum is welcoming or that you belong there?
Skater: Not really. It always feels a bit… I don’t know… for other people.
Anna: Thank you for sharing that. Would you like a free entry ticket to go inside?
Skater: Really? Yeah, okay, thanks.
Anna: Great! Feel free to explore at your own pace.
Skater: Cool, I’ll check it out. Thanks.
Examples of participatory art include the relational aesthetics movement. Artists such as Rirkrit Tiravanija placed social interaction at the centre of art, blurring the boundaries between artist, audience, and artwork. In Untitled (Free) (1992), Tiravanija cooked Pad Thai inside a gallery, transforming the exhibition space into a kitchen where strangers could sit, eat, and talk together. The work was not the food itself but the situation it enabled—an artwork made of encounters, hospitality, and conversation.
My project 12HourSoup followed this lineage but was adapted to the city of Barcelona and its diverse public. Inspired by Tiravanija, I invited people to contribute to and share a communal soup that was cooked for twelve hours. 400 posters, printed in six languages, were distributed across the city, each with tear-off tabs listing ingredients. People could bring what they had and join the making. Throughout the day, strangers came and went: some donated ingredients, others chopped vegetables, others stayed to eat. Conversations sparked between people who might never have otherwise met, locals, immigrants, visitors, and those living on the streets. The work was about co-presence. Without participants, there was no soup; without the soup, there was no artwork. The distinction between subject and object collapsed as the audience became part of the work. This reflects Donna Haraway’s idea of sympoiesis- “making-with”, where creation is collective, messy, and interdependent. It also aligns with relational aesthetics, where the value of the work lies not in a finished object but in the social relations it generates. What mattered was not the soup itself but the connections it made possible. These encounters also foreground the importance of mistakes and organicness: unplanned moments, misunderstandings, and improvisations are not failures—they are essential ingredients for generating engagement, learning, and new forms of relational art.
I have been co-running 200CENT for over two years. It’s a non-profit creative space and gallery that supports young artists and builds a platform for people to showcase their artwork and discourse. We focus on experimental work, workshops, talks with the public, community-building, and breaking down social barriers between locals and foreigners, emerging and established artists, creators and audiences. It’s an open space where people can test ideas, exhibit, collaborate, and simply meet others. It’s not polished or commercial. It’s alive. In Haraway’s terms, 200CENT is about making oddkin. It’s about forming connections between people or things that don’t naturally belong together. We try to host events and shows that mix disciplines, cultures, languages, and age groups. Haraway’s thinking has helped me realise the importance of building networks that aren’t based on sameness or shared background, but on shared time, space, and curiosity. The space exists not only to showcase finished work, but to support the process of making, connecting, and thinking together.
Through these projects, I’ve started to see art less as something that represents life and more as something that actively shapes it. Art becomes a method of gathering, of testing, of being together. It becomes a way of building living archives of encounter, memory, and relation. The “artwork” is not the soup, the exhibition, or the space itself, it is the moment of exchange, the possibility of rethinking how we live together. This is where art can move beyond representation. By creating spaces of participation and connection, by embracing uncertainty, and by blurring the boundaries between art and life, it can open up possibilities for change, not on the scale of grand gestures, but in the everyday acts of cooking, speaking, gathering, and sharing. These small moments of togetherness are not just supplementary to art: they are the work itself.
Limits are often seen as obstacles, but in practice they can be generative. Boundaries, rules, and structures create the conditions for play, experimentation, and new connections. In my work, I have found that constraints, whether imposed by a game, a space, or a collaboration, open up more possibilities than complete freedom ever could. Sudoku offers a simple metaphor. At first glance, it is a grid of numbers with strict rules: every row, column, and box must contain the digits 1–9 without repetition. But the puzzle begins incomplete, with only a few “givens.” The challenge is not to guess but to work logically within the limits, filling the grid step by step. The system only works because of both consistency (the rules never change) and flow (every number influences the others). This structure mirrors society. We live within sets of rules, laws, cultural norms, invisible agreements that shape how we move through the world. Too rigid, and the system collapses into stagnation. Too loose, and there is chaos. The balance lies in rules that create fairness, order, and inclusion, while still leaving space for adaptation. Sudoku illustrates this: all numbers must appear, none can dominate, and each placement matters for the whole. Society, too, thrives when diversity is present, when individuals are interconnected, and when collaboration is valued over competition. In my own projects, I often use rules not as restrictions but as starting points. In La Oca (2025), created with the collective La Bobería, we reimagined one of the oldest board games. The original game represents the journey of life, guided largely by luck, with moments of progress, setbacks, and chance encounters. We built 63 magnetic pieces inspired by modernisme ornamentation and natural materials, allowing the audience to physically “play” the artwork by rolling dice and moving tokens across the installation. The game’s rules gave structure, but within that framework players could invent their own narratives. It was a way of using limitations, the fixed path, the numbered squares, to create an open, living artwork shaped by collective interaction. A similar logic guided Dance as You Wrestle (2023), a collaborative installation with the founders of 200CENT. Each of us contributed three materials over three set time periods: three minutes, three hours, and three days. The rule was simple: in each round, one of the materials had to come from the previous artist’s contribution. This limitation forced us into dialogue. It prevented us from working in isolation and required each gesture to respond to what was already present. The result was a layered structure that none of us could have made alone. The imposed boundaries generated unexpected connections, merging our different approaches into a single evolving form.
Dot-to-Dot (2025), curated by Arash Fayez with my class at Metàfora, followed a similar principle. Seven artists worked sequentially with a camera, each filming a series of moving images and then passing it to the next. Like the children’s puzzle of connecting dots, the final piece only revealed itself through collective participation. Here again, the rules, sequential order, shared equipment, limited control, shaped the process. Yet within these boundaries, individuality and improvisation flourished.
Across these projects, I see rules less as limitations and more as frameworks for connection. Like Sudoku, the “givens” provide enough order to prevent collapse, but the gaps invite creativity. Working within constraints produces flow, dialogue, and interdependence. Playing wrong, bending the rules, or creating new ones can also be a strategy: breaking the everyday, interrupting habitual structures, and finding freedom inside formality.
For me, limitations are not barriers but tools. They challenge us to think differently, to collaborate, and to imagine alternatives. Just as Sudoku requires logic, patience, and care, working with rules in art and life asks for attention, not only to one’s own moves but to the interconnected system as a whole.
Chance shapes artistic processes in ways that cannot be fully anticipated. In participatory and relational work, the outcomes are not solely determined by the artist; they emerge from interactions between creators, materials, and participants. Claire Bishop’s Chance: Documents of Contemporary Art outlines four areas in which chance operates: the creator (including nature as a creator), the materials used (including their life expectancy), the form the work takes (including scale), and its function or purpose in life (Kaprow, 1966; Aristotle’s four causes). This framework is particularly relevant for participatory projects, where the act of ceding some or all authorial control fosters unpredictability, risk, and innovation. As Bishop notes, shared production produces a more positive and non-hierarchical social model, restoring social bonds through collective elaboration of meaning. Activation, authorship, and community are the three most common motives for encouraging participation in art since the 1960s. By engaging the audience as active participants rather than passive viewers, the work becomes dynamic, fluid, and contingent. Projects such as Dinner with Familiar Strangers and 12 Hour Soup exemplify this approach. In 12 Hour Soup, the materials (ingredients) are provided, but how, when, and by whom they are contributed is unpredictable. The resulting social interactions, collaborations, and communal experiences are shaped as much by participants as by the initial concept. Without public engagement, the work cannot exist; the artwork is created through collective action and shared participation. This reflects Haraway’s idea of sympoiesis, or “making-with,” emphasizing that creation is relational rather than singular. Similarly, Group Material’s On Democracy project challenged conventional exhibition and lecture formats by incorporating roundtable discussions, exhibitions, and town meetings where outcomes were shaped by both organizers and participants. Each participant’s voice contributed to a collective understanding, demonstrating how chance and participation can generate democratic and non-hierarchical forms of cultural production. Chance is therefore both a conceptual and practical tool. By designing frameworks where outcomes are not predetermined, through materials, structures, or prompts, artists invite new connections, emergent interactions, and creative possibilities. These moments disrupt the everyday, opening space for experimentation, reflection, and collaborative meaning-making. In relational and participatory practices, the unknown is not a limitation but a source of potential, allowing art to evolve alongside those who engage with it. By embracing chance and the unknown, these participatory practices break the rhythms of the everyday, transforming routine interactions into opportunities for connection, new perspectives, and shared experiences that extend beyond the traditional boundaries of art.
I have explored how breaking the everyday, chance encounters, participation, and relational processes can generate new perspectives and interactions. Chapter 7 extends this exploration to the ways that collaboration and co-creation allow seemingly unrelated elements, people, and ideas to intersect- producing something entirely new. My art, whether conceptual or material, emerges from this convergence: a new being or a moment of shared experience, fluid and evolving, temporarily made static before returning to the flow of the everyday. Co-creation enables forms, people, and contexts that might never meet to interact. Each participant brings their own perspective, experience, and approach, and together, these differences generate emergent qualities that are impossible to predict. This dynamic is both method and material: the process itself becomes the medium. Through collaboration, artworks are not merely objects or events, they are living intersections, where relationships, observations, and interactions coalesce into something singular and new. In many ways, this reflects Donna Haraway’s concept of sympoiesis, or “making-with.” Art and life are not separate; instead, they emerge through entanglements of people, objects, and environments. Co-created works, like the projects I undertake at 200CENT, are a form of companion species thinking: they acknowledge the agency of everyone involved—the artists, the public, the space itself, and even the city streets, as participants in a shared, relational system. In these collaborations, authorship is distributed, and the artwork is defined by the interactions it fosters rather than by a single creator’s intent. A curatorial project I worked on with Kirra Kusy, Juanpi and Violetto and artists Renata Gelosi and Xiayu Zhang exemplifies this approach. The project connected 200CENT and casa espacio, creating a route through the neighborhood that emphasized the journey between the galleries. The path invited observation of the streets, the environment, what remains and what is ephemeral, the territory, the neighborhood, and ourselves as part of the landscape. It was a conscious act of walking, of seeing the urban environment as a site for reflection and participation. Rena and Xiayu were asked to select four objects from the street along the route and exchange them with works of their own creation. Two objects were placed in each gallery, generating new dialogues between the artists’ work and the environment of the other space. The project blurred boundaries, between galleries and streets, between private and public, between artwork and environment, and invited viewers to reconsider what constitutes an artwork depending on its context.
The resulting exhibition expanded the walls of the galleries into a pathway, transforming the act of walking into a layered, participatory experience. The space between casa espacio and 200CENT became a site of observation, activating the in-between as much as the spaces themselves. The street offered secrets, and the environment gave what was needed to make connections visible. The project was a form of co-creation on multiple levels: between the galleries, between the artists, and between viewers and the urban landscape. In Haraway’s terms, this work is about creating “oddkin”, connections that might seem unlikely or impossible, yet are made through shared time, space, and attention. Co-creation allows elements, objects, and people to intersect in ways they would not naturally, producing artworks that are not fixed but alive, temporarily stabilized before rejoining the constant flow of life. It is in these moments, when the ordinary is reconfigured and the familiar disrupted, that art becomes a tool for reflection, encounter, and transformation. Ultimately, the project demonstrates how breaking the everyday creates new connections, perspectives, and forms of being. By embracing relationality, chance, and collaboration, the ordinary is transformed into a space of potential, where people, objects, and ideas meet in unexpected ways, generating new experiences and ways of seeing the world.
Conclusion
Throughout this thesis, I have explored how breaking the everyday, through observation, participation, collaboration, and chance, can generate new perspectives, connections, and ways of being. From my interventions in public spaces to collaborative projects, my practice investigates the entanglements between people, objects, and environments, revealing how small disruptions ripple outward to create meaningful interactions. These experiments, whether ephemeral, performative, or material, demonstrate that art does not need to be confined to a gallery or a static object: it can emerge in the spaces between, in moments of encounter, and in the processes of making and sharing. Key to this approach is fluidity. By embracing uncertainty, chance, and the unknown, I allow the work to unfold organically, creating opportunities for participants to contribute, adapt, and shape outcomes. This aligns with Donna Haraway’s concepts of sympoiesis and companion species: art is not created in isolation, but through entangled relationships where humans and non-humans, participants and materials, co-exist and co-create. Similarly, my focus on relationality, limitations, and rules shows how structures, far from being restrictive, can generate new forms of interaction and understanding, whether through games, collaborative processes, or guided frameworks. Collaboration and co-creation extend these ideas, demonstrating how people, objects, and contexts that might never meet under ordinary circumstances can intersect to produce something entirely new. The resulting artworks are not fixed; they are temporarily stabilized moments in the flow of the everyday, living intersections that highlight connections that are often invisible or overlooked. In this sense, the work becomes a tool for reflection, experimentation, and social engagement, offering a space to notice, question, and reshape habitual ways of seeing, acting, and relating. Ultimately, this body of work argues for art as a method rather than a final product. By disrupting the everyday, by playing with rules and chance, and by foregrounding participation and relationality, I create situations that expand the possibilities of connection, empathy, and awareness. These projects suggest that even small interventions, sharing meals, collaborative walks, drawings of passing strangers, can transform everyday life into a site of meaning, curiosity, and care. In conclusion, the practice presented here is both a research and a lived experience: a demonstration that breaking routines, fostering participation, and embracing fluidity can produce not only artworks but new forms of social and personal encounter. Through these explorations, art becomes a generative force, capable of reconfiguring the familiar, revealing unseen connections, and opening spaces for collective imagination, reflection, and transformation.