2022
𓇼 𓆑
𓇼 𓆑
◌⋰◦⋱● 𓂉
Ectoplasm is part of my explorations around corrupting the readability of texts to find a truth hidden behind words.
It is a collaboration and dialogue with my mother and my grandmother. What is projected in the center of the canvas is a poem written by my grandmother. It is a poem that my mother has not wanted to hear. The phrase framing the poem is what my mom answered when I asked her: If you could say something to your mother right now, what would you?
The piece consists of a projection of the poem onto two layered pieces of fabric in front of a candelabrum with a lit candle. When you attempt to approach and read the poem, the circle created by my mother's words gradually fills with green color, covering the words of my grandmother.
I take the concept of ectoplasm, a resource used by mediums in the early 20th century during spiritualist nights to simulate the materialization of the spirit they wanted to contact for their clients. They would print faces on fabrics and pull them out from the mouth or vagina, as if these biological remnants of a deceased person first materialized within the body of the spiritualist before being expelled into the world.
i was raised in a city created for tourists and rampant consumption where i learned how to write in between the margins where i learned to enjoy the symptom of liminality where i learned to enjoy flashy devotion, whenever im using a computer i feel so much freedom, i could do whatever i want, write wherever i want, create things out of thin air, alienated, we learn to love the tonality of the life we lived when we grew up, that’s why i love airports and empty malls and anything quiet and devoid of movement, i have learned to love freedom more than anything else and that is just the way it is