In My Rats Don’t Race, Bravebirdie moves through the uneasy space between departure and arrival, where familiar structures dissolve and new ones take their place.

The exhibition emerges from the quiet aftershock of war, migration, and the slow process of being remade by circumstance. Home appears here not as a fixed location, but as something fractured, remembered, and increasingly difficult to define. Language, routine, belonging, and identity shift into unfamiliar shapes, leaving the figures suspended between what has been lost and what must be lived.

The title gently resists the logic of constant motion. These rats do not race; they linger, watch, and endure. Their stillness becomes a form of refusal, a way of stepping outside systems that demand productivity, adaptation, and forward movement before grief has had time to settle.

Throughout the exhibition, there is the exhaustion of constantly beginning again, and the quiet helplessness of witnessing war from afar. The works hold the pain of distance: the inability to return, to protect, to pause the violence, or to fully belong elsewhere.

My Rats Don’t Race considers survival as something quieter than victory: a fragile insistence on remaining present while everything around the self is changing.