Marginalia - Mexico

Larissa Garza

Reading time: 2 minutes




Every month Marginalia invites an artist, curator, or project to provide a series of images that will serve as the background of Terremoto, in relation to their practice and current interests. At the end of each month, the whole series of images is unveiled. Here is the selection of June 2020.

i am sick of being stuck inside but i don’t want to go out. we have to tell the body that there’s no other option but to keep going. hyperconnectivity—far from nurturing connection—drains us down to our cells, and so i turned all of my notifications off; from now on we’ll be communicating telepathically.

let’s slow down, let’s stop thinking, saying, and doing to make sure we exist, to make sure we can breathe deeply, observe. right then is where revolution comes in, followed by spaces, by affects, by caresses. the horoscope told me: you may dream and then forget about dreaming. whatever you do, do what matters most to you. It goes without saying but then so does the flower.

1.1. EXT. ROOF – DAY
to appear in front of the sun, only to later disappear (on a loop)

—you have no idea how much i love that you exist
—i also love that you exist

to start eating something and then realize you still have a mask on. to be so close to hug someone automatically, but correct yourself to bump elbows instead. new routines manage to be smaller and at the same time more piercing. i’m not crying; it’s just the aromatherapy in my eyes.

life is short, what is it that gives us life and makes us us?

everything points towards our treasured everyday happenings, those so-called little things that are actually bigger than they seem, but often appear to be smaller or insignificant because we are the only ones that notice them. until we share them, that is where we can find it all:  in the pleasure of turning to see each other, of knowing we are seen, of letting us be pierced. i never noticed the sun more than now that i am inside. 

we crave healing the forest, we want to stand where it smells like plants, to sit on the volcano’s slopes. we crave healing the place where we promised to dance safaera together, close, sweaty, body against body. i will not die without having danced enough.   


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