In a time in which so much of the layperson’s life unravels in virtual spaces and intangible gestures, the inescapability of our physical forms may seem like background noise until we are pulled into the undertow of corporeality when our bodies do something unexpected or inconvenient. Should we really strive to sublimate ourselves into abstraction, or are there things worth mining within the inconveniences and idiosyncrasies of our flesh-bound forms?

30 minutes into my talk with artist Lolita Eno, I wondered if anything we’d said would be salvageable for publishing: our conversation was supposed to focus on the body, the phenomenon of inhabiting one, and what the body’s physical reality meant for her and her artwork, which I thought would be simple enough given that Lolita’s work largely focuses on manipulating photos of real human bodies into animalistic creatures. Instead, Lolita seemed unable to stay grounded in the material facts of embodiment—every time I’d try to tether her thoughts to a physical form, she’d stray to the soul, which according to her was “the most important part of her artwork.”

She seemed lost when I asked her what it signified that she chose to use transhumanistic bodies as her primary subject, deferring to the viewer’s perception instead of claiming any artistic intention. When I asked about her relationship to her own body, all she had to say was “right now, I think I’m very beautiful” (extremely true), but explained that, to her, a body itself holds no significance if the soul, which she claimed to be able to intuit through a person’s eyes, wasn’t robust enough under scrutiny. I mused that since one’s eyes are in fact part of their body, it seems like what you’d see in them might skew more physical than metaphysical, and she suggested we chalk this all up to differences in fundamental conceptions of the world—”it depends on what you believe in.” I felt discouraged, like I hadn’t done this piece or Lolita due diligence, but prepared to finish up with one last question:

Em Seely-Katz: Some of your work that doesn’t feature people is very violent. Animals’ bodies that are sliced in half…

Lolita Eno: …Ah, my sculpture of a goat.

E: Those felt very rooted in violence against bodies to me. What do those mean to you as opposed to the rest of your body of work?

L: There is only one piece I made like that, a sculpture, the rest of my work is photography. It is not a real goat or real hair, it’s all different types of plastic—nothing is from a real animal.

I thought of it as a chair that you could sit on at the beginning, but it didn’t work—it was too small to sit in. It ended up being just another piece.

It is a bit violent, because I sometimes think about violent things in general.

‍E: What do you mean by that?

L: I mean, like, sex is violence. I don’t have a really sexually open life—I don’t sleep with many people, I’m very reserved, I normally don’t even date, I’m super internal, but inside of me, I’m super sexual. I think about sex a lot, even though I don’t practice it. That’s fucked up, I know.

‍E: It’s not fucked up, it makes sense!

L: It comes out in different ways, that I think sex is super violent.

‍E: You don’t have to answer this, but I’m really interested in what you feel is violent about sex.

L: The act of penetration, the act of someone getting in your organs, is fucked. It’s violent, you’re letting someone get inside your body.

It’s like you have to take care of it… it’s inside your body! I find that a violent act if you don’t love this person.

‍E: Do you eat meat?

L: No. I eat fish when I’m near the coast, when I know they handle the fish well, when it’s not a massive operation.

E: I’ve actually never eaten meat in my life.

L: You don’t know how it tastes?

‍E: No, I mean, I’ve probably accidentally had a broth or something with meat stock in it, but never intentionally or consciously. I can’t help but think of this when you say that the act of putting one body inside of another has inherent violence that can only be tempered by love, by this metaphysical thing…

L: I feel like that, that’s why I’m not openly having sex with a guy I just met, I have to go through a process of liking the person. I’m very intimate in that way.

‍E: It’s like some kind of magic. You have this idea of physical violence associated with sex, and then this metaphysical idea of “the soul” that feels like a magic wand, almost, that you can tap on this physicality and transmute it into something at least not inherently painful. Does that resonate with you, this idea of using the soul, using these metaphysical, abstract ideas, to convert physical realities into something else?

L: Wow. Oh my god. That was completely a trip. [laughs] I really like that you said that.

E: I have something really nerdy to say.

L: I love that. Just get into it.

E: There’s this new anime called Dungeon Meshi—it’s in the Dungeons and Dragons world. These people go into a dungeon looking for their friend who got eaten by a dragon, and as they travel, they have to kill and eat monsters to survive. Eventually, they find their friend, and she’s been transformed into a half-human-half-dragon chimera. They realize that the only way to separate her human body from the dragon without potential for the dragon to continue controlling her is to eat the monster parts of the chimera’s body, because the act of digestion—it’s this physical thing, but it has metaphysical implications that convert a violent being into something that can’t hurt you. What you’re saying feels so related to this, that there’s this kind of spiritual “metabolism” that you have to put things like sex and bodies through to render them less violent.

L: I don’t understand life without violence. I don’t think you can have the good parts of life without also knowing the darkest parts.

In the world, we need all kinds of people—narcissists, psychopaths, because in the end, they add to our society in ways only they can.

E: They’re part of our ecosystem.

L: But how do we create a world that can cope with this?

Your soul has to process these people’s realities into something you can feel comfortable with.

E: It’s like spiritual digestion.

L: It’s like vore, the fantasy of eating another being in just one piece. I love that you came out with that example after you asked before about my relationship with the Furry fandom. Taking all this person inside of you, to keep a soul inside of you because you feel empty…

E: So you think that what people really want is the soul. When they want to swallow the whole body, you think that what they really want is to swallow the soul, the abstract things.

L: I think so. It’s the only way you don’t feel lonely. Everybody wants to be seen. When someone doesn’t see you for who you are,

you want them to see you for who you are not—that connects back to the art I make, so based in super-online fantasies of presenting as a different type of creature, as a Second Life persona.“See the me I’ve created for you.”

‍E: “And if you refuse to see me, even in the ways I’ve created for you, I’ll swallow you, and then I’ll be the last thing you see. You’ll be forced to reckon with me.”

L: What a toxic relationship!

‍E: I never thought about vore as something so manipulative, I always focused on the physical aspects, but it feels so socially-based, now that I think about it.

L: It’s about wanting to have the last word, being the last thing. You want to be god to them.

E: You want to become god by eating them—you want to achieve a metaphysical importance by doing something so physical. It’s so interesting—for these physical things, like sex, there’s a spiritual metabolism, but for this spiritual thing of becoming god, there’s a physical metabolism.