« Wrong Christmas Eve » is a frozen scene, a contemporary still life, or rather, a perverse stillness. The work stages a false innocence that slowly tips into latent discomfort. Two Furbys, soft and hybrid icons of cybernetic childhood, flank a Tomy Dingbot robot, clumsy, almost ashamed. The viewer is cast as a silent witness to a troubling domestic tableau.

This is not Christmas Eve, but the eve of something repressed. A familial ritual spilling over with visceral unspoken truths, the intrusion of the sexual into the child’s space.

The title Wrong Christmas Eve is less a pun than an alarm signal.

The sexual objects, never named but instantly recognizable, shatter the festive reading. They are not placed to provoke, but to signal a truth the image attempts to repress, sexuality is everywhere, even where it should be unthinkable. The Real returns, in all its rawness. This is not pornography, this is a symbolic crime scene.

The work operates like a blurry reconstruction, like a dream one cannot quite forget. It conjures an archetype, the child betrayed by the home, while the elements of the set replay, over and over, a repressed scenario.

It is a plunge into unease, the kind that never makes it into family photographs.