When I was little, I saw that if my mother wasn’t looking at me, no one saw that, in the play, a girl was playing a tree, standing still. She wore a black tank top and brown pants. I remember feeling envious, sensing that I didn’t deserve to be the squirrel, because a supervisor had decided I was only worthy of staying still. That my voice wasn’t enough to make the sounds of a small creature.

As a teenager, I couldn’t see myself, because my gaze was in the eyes of others—mostly men who devoured me on the street. Until one day I could see it, and then I saw myself from the outside and realized I didn’t like it.

When one day the “no” you’ve heard for so long becomes a “yes,” you let yourself fall, let yourself go, and, above all, open yourself up to what’s to come, whatever it may be. But one day that “yes” will drown you, and suddenly you’ll find yourself in an empty room with only an echo, not knowing how you got back there.

But you’ll return to the party that pierces your eyes and leaves you exhausted until you surrender. Luckily, only one hand can emerge to help you then. Your own.

This work-in-progress is a journey to discover one’s own hand.

Concept and Performance: Núria Frías Corrius
Special thanks to Carlos G. Corchia, Laura Armengol, Miren Biotz, Jose Menez, Lucas Castillo

A production by ZINE Colectivo

GlogauAir Art Residency Berlin

July 2022