In This Isn’t My Birthday, Hannah constructs a tense, voyeuristic scene that interrogates the nature of surveillance, spectacle, and the loss of personal agency. A group of women, seemingly caught mid-struggle, occupy a lavishly adorned domestic setting… one that suggests celebration, yet is entirely devoid of joy. The words “PEEP” loom over the scene, a blunt and intrusive reminder that this is not a private moment but a performance under watchful eyes. The viewer, too, is implicated in this act of observation, drawn into the role of silent witness or complicit voyeur.

The placement of the figures (chaotic, entangled, caught in unguarded motion) challenges the staged perfection often associated with both domestic life and female representation in visual culture. Their struggle feels theatrical, yet its rawness suggests real, unresolved tension. The presence of overt surveillance imagery forces an unsettling question: are they performing for an unseen audience, or has their pain been co-opted and turned into entertainment?

This work, created in the aftermath of profound personal loss, takes on an additional layer of meaning as Hannah navigates the ways grief itself can become a public spectacle. Society often dictates how loss should be expressed, scrutinizing those who stray from the expected script of mourning. The absence of her signature tentacle motif further emphasizes a shift… where she once played an active role in shaping the narrative, here she surrenders to the reality of being observed, picked apart, and interpreted by external forces.

This Isn’t My Birthday ultimately holds a mirror to the viewer, forcing an uncomfortable self-examination of our collective relationship with voyeurism, control, and the performance of emotion. Are we witnesses or participants? And in an era where the personal is constantly consumed, does true privacy even exist?