This piece began with a found bottle, its plastic shell split open, its shape both familiar and violently altered. From the wound spills sea glass, once sharp debris, now softened by salt and time. Collected from the coast of northern Norway, each fragment is a relic of a time when our waste was still capable of transformation. Gutted is both title and condition. It names the work, and names a feeling - of sorrow, of helplessness, of anger - toward the relentless pollution of our oceans. The image it conjures is not abstract; fish full of plastic, bodies ruptured by what they’ve consumed. In this installation, that reality is reversed. Plastic made flesh, filled not with microplastics or nylon threads, but with glass tumbled into temporary beauty. It is a visual contradiction; the organic emerging from the synthetic, the soft from the sharp, the ruined from the resilient. There is no nostalgia here. Sea glass itself is disappearing, replaced by plastics that do not wear down, do not vanish, do not transform. The quiet glow of these colored shards speaks not only of what was lost, but of what is no longer breaking down. We are left with materials that cannot forget. Gutted is not an answer. It is a wound held open. A container emptied and reimagined. A visceral reflection on environmental grief, and a call to confront the waste we bury in bodies not our own.