How strong was her love for her spawn? Let me tell you. When the girl child was taken from her, such a dark cloud descended that she lashed out with the strength of a desperate army. Anger blotting out the sun; fields set afire with her spark of her mad gaze. Her cries ripped trees from their roots; every bloom, every bud withered from the kill of her hateful eye. In her wake, the fields lay barren and fallow and that is how winter was born.
In her life span thus far, Alexis O'Hara has produced roughly 438 eggs. Not a one has, or will, become offspring. For this immersive installation/performance, the audience enters a giant egg sac. Inside, they witness a booming, pulsating meditation on the lifecycles of mortals, aliens, and gods alike - a visceral and contemporary interpretation of the commodification of women's fertility.