If I am the corpse, there must be a weapon

There is no body in the strict sense, but there are enough traces to suggest that something has happened, that certain images have silently reshaped the way of looking and, with it, the way of desiring. The screen is not a boundary, but a portal: a threshold of overexposure where the impact does not strike, but clings. We might be facing a kind of weapon that is difficult to identify, precisely because it fulfills all the conditions to be desired.

Returning to the images that marked childhood is not about nostalgia, but about the need to go back to the origin, to closely observe those first forms that captured attention. By translating them into the physical plane, the gesture changes: what was once only seen through glass can now be touched. Objects gain weight, occupy space, offer resistance.

They could even cause harm in a literal sense —open a wound, leave a mark— and then their dangerous nature would become evident. The result is a set of objects that, despite their kind and recognizable appearance, function as remnants of a more complex relationship with the image: a bodiless scene where what attracts is precisely what is hardest to stop looking at.