The opening pages of Georges Bataille’s 1928 novella, Story of the Eye, recount a violent three-way sex scene on the edge of a cliff. As the libidinal frenzy nears its peak, rain starts to fall, introducing mud and dirt into the already visceral cocktail of piss, cum, and other bodily fluids in free flow. If this literary vignette had a visual equivalent, it might well be the Sisyphean compositions of Sibylle Ruppert, in which hybrid limbs, flesh, machinery, and the natural elements all commingle and fuse into one another without beginning or end, obliterating any notion of bodily integrity.