You’re standing in the audience at London’s coOc on a Saturday night. DJ Daniel Fabari is on the decks, playing a psychedelic soundscape of humming, shamanic chanting, drumming, breathwork, animal noises, poems, and the thud of a punching bag being struck again and again. The lights around you glitch. On stage, make-up and SFX artist Tilda Mace stands beside a bare-chested model wrapped in furs. There’s something uncanny about him, though you can’t quite place it – until Tilda begins cutting him open. The music grows heavier, hyena cries filling the room. And then a figure emerges from the ruins of the skin, which you now realise was prosthetic: a second head, another pair of arms, a torso.

Designer Mxx Karade is also on stage, airbrushing animal prints onto the model as he shifts position – first crouching, then dropping to his hands and knees, then collapsing onto the floor, slain. Clothing and furs are layered over his body as he seems to sink back into the earth. Gospel music swells to a crescendo. Then everything goes black.

What you would have witnessed, if you’d been there at CoOc that night, was the second of Tilda’s live events, which blend performance, artistry, SFX and airbrushing, part planned and part improvised, to create a spectacle that unfolds live in front of an audience who are also participating in their own way, helping to shape the experience into what it is. Tilda has incorporated live elements into her practice before. In 2024, she painted shapes and swirls onto FKA twigs’ body as the singer performed on stage for the launch of the album Eusexua. But these events take things one step further.

For the latest one, Tilda knew she wanted to create a second self for someone, and to have that person emerge out of themselves. “My obsession and concept for the past few months has been about dualities and different selves; releasing your inner self to create the new self,” she says. The first step was finding a model. Tilda wanted someone “primal and animalistic”, not your typical fashion face, and her friend ended up streetcasting Valentine, an MC, a week before the performance. 

Tilda then had four days to create the hyper-realistic body mould of Valentine from scratch – a process, she says, that normally takes between three weeks to two months. Working with Fabari in the studio, she built a soundtrack that pulled together everything from the sounds of horses and hyenas to shamanic chanting. The music, along with the glitching lighting, was specifically designed to feel uncalculated and raw, she explains – almost like breath and heartbeats. 

Because the performance involved cutting the model out of the prosthetics, Tilda had just one shot at the reveal, with no opportunity to test it out beforehand. On the day of the performance, she and Valentine prepared in a back room of the club, putting the paste on him, cutting out arm holes because the prosthetics were too heavy to stay up without support. Valentine’s fake head was so realistic that he could unlock his phone with it, and during the process he FaceTimed his dad and answered with the prosthetic face. It was all part of the performance, although something that the audience didn’t get to experience. 

“The funny, uncanny bits bring it to life and break the boundary,” says Tilda. “The beauty of my art is the behind-the-scenes parts and the interactive elements to it. When I do a big project, the end result is kind of nothing. It is all about the journey. It’s the funny parts, it’s the live cast with the boy who doesn’t know anything about prosthetics.” 

For the performance itself, nothing was set up in advance. Mxx Karade, for example, brought out his airbrushing equipment and assembled it in front of the audience, a deliberate choice to ensure everything felt natural. “My whole thing is portraying the actual creation,” Tilda explains. “I didn’t want the stage to be set up. I didn’t want Max’s airbrush to be set up. I wanted people to see that part of the performance.” Similarly, as she cut Valentine free from the prosthetics, Tilda whispered directions and notes into his ear, further heightening the sense of rawness.

“It was about how we can both be present in the performance and work together. We were just going with the flow – we didn’t know how the prosthetics were going to come off, we didn’t know what was going to happen next. I loved that it was so free,” she says. “The imperfection and the confidence in not being sure what’s going to happen is really addictive watch for people to watch, I think. I’ve always loved pantomime, I found it so funny when people get their words wrong. I love when something isn’t perfect, so I feel like something that I should bring into my work more. It alleviates the pressure, and then you have space to claim your own path.”

Looking forward, Tilda wants to continue creating these events, making space for nightlife that is fun, inspiring and creative. Not just about raving or drinking, but a showcase of art and “insane expressionism.” She wants to host interactive workshops and has also recently started a Discord channel to create a community for all the aspiring creatives who are feeling lost and confused about the industry. Tilda also offers podcasts, exclusive content, tutorials, and feedback on portfolios. “There are so many people who feel a bit defeated by the uni system, a bit confused about the real world, about actually being an artist, the struggles of how to get things done, how to actually be successful,” she says. “I was there myself, I learned it all myself. So I was just thinking, “I really feel like I could help.”