Bianca Censori has long been discussed more than she has been heard. Known publicly as an architect, an aesthetic provocateur, and the wife of Kanye West, she has remained largely silent amid tabloid speculation and constant scrutiny. This week, however, she chose to speak not with words, but through performance.
In Seoul, South Korea, Censori debuted BIO POP, her first foray into performance art. The 14-minute work, presented twice, unfolded without dialogue, relying instead on space, movement, and symbolism to make its point. And make a point it did.
The performance opened quietly. For the first stretch, Censori moved through a pristine kitchen, engaging in a familiar domestic ritual: baking a cake. The scene felt intentionally restrained, almost meditative, a portrait of calm routine and coded femininity. But the stillness didn’t last.
As the performance shifted into a second room, the tone changed entirely. The domestic space gave way to sculptural furniture designed by Censori herself, pieces shaped like human forms, blurring the boundary between body and object. Referencing medical and therapeutic apparatus, the installation felt clinical, unsettling, and deliberate. The familiar comforts of home were reimagined as something far more ambiguous.
According to a statement on Censori’s website, BIO POP “stages the body inside the language of the domestic.” The cake, she explains, is not nourishment but offering a ritual gesture that reframes domestic labour as spectacle. What emerges is a meditation on power, visibility, and the ways women’s bodies have historically been positioned within private spaces.
Naturally, the work has prompted debate. Some viewers have drawn parallels to the controversial sculptural furniture of artist Allen Jones, whose late-1960s works explored similar intersections of form, function, and gender politics. Whether BIO POP is in conversation with that legacy, or intentionally challenging it remains open to interpretation.
What is clear is that this is only the beginning. BIO POP is the first in a planned series of seven performances, to unfold over seven years. Meaning, perhaps, is not meant to arrive all at once.
For now, Censori has done what performance art often does best: unsettle the familiar, provoke discussion, and leave us sitting with questions rather than answers.
