Don't Walk on the Grass

The connection to UV mapping, the process by which a three-dimensional form is unfolded into a flat plane and projected back as a graphic skin, runs through every element of the work. The brick, the pixel, and the urban green space are all standardised units: repeatable, interchangeable, and designed to produce a uniform surface that conceals the decisions behind it. What the installation makes visible is what that uniformity hides.

Visitors are invited to take a newsprint leaflet printed flat with a one-to-one scale blueprint of a brick, a UV map in the most literal sense. On its cover is not a photograph of the physical installation but its digital twin: the same space, built to the same dimensions in Blender, textured with the same images, rendered as if it were a real room being documented. The two versions of the space, one paper and ink, one geometry and light, sit side by side on the newsprint, and the viewer is left to locate the difference.

The title is borrowed from a sign. Not as a warning, but as a description of a condition that already exists in cities everywhere — spaces where nature is present precisely to be seen and not disturbed. Don‘t Walk on the Grass does not argue for a return to wild nature. It argues that we should be able to read the construction beneath the image, and ask what it means when the grass is always the same length, the park is always the same park, and the green space exists for the convenience of those who look at it rather than the ecology it displaces.