The act of hand-scooping rice with sauce or curry isn’t merely adjacent to normal eating behavior; it’s something that forces the hand into the mouth in a way that short-circuits the logic of utensils entirely.Once the fingertips become the delivery mechanism, they stop being an intermediary and start being an appendage in service of ingestion itself, and the result feels grotesque: the eater doesn’t look like someone guiding food toward the mouth but like someone consuming their own hand in the process. Every scoop is a small cycle of self-contact, a miniature self-devouring gesture that mimics hunger but visually recalls violence. It becomes a kind of unintentional theater of appetite, the hand spoon acting as a stand-in for something half human and half animal, caught between function and self-annihilation. Watching it, you sense the same distortion that Goya painted into Saturn devouring his son: the breakdown of distinction between eater and eaten, control and compulsion, the physical act turning symbolic and disturbing at the same time.
