Her old hands swept the flour mill, skimmed the cream off the top of the lone milk jug in the cellar, and scraped the last bit of butter from the dish. She kneaded the dough in a bowl by the dim candlelight.

Out came a round, puffy bread man, fried till pink.

So full of himself was the bread man that he rolled away, away from her old hands and her hungry-mouthed husband.

Through the forest, the bread man went, encountering many creatures. He outran them all, boasting. Blindly trusting the cunning fox, he almost lost his head. At last, a hedgehog caught him, only to return him home.

The Slovak version of this story suggests that the bread man (Slovak: pampúch) returned home to bring joy to his elderly makers. The story ends there, but undoubtedly, the couple ate the bread man.

If one is what one eats, did the makers absorb their creation's arrogance?

Through the transformation of the bread man, my installation delves into integrity, sustenance, foolishness, and potentiality of bread and men alike. Their interplay materializes as an overspilling constrained object, a jiggling yet-to-be bread, a brittle skin-like residue, and glueing support in place of disks in a disproportionate spine.