frutiplanismo

Salon ACME 2022, Mexico City

(february)

If the soil functioned as soil, the fruits would have to fall.

I’m not very sure how I got here. Something in the air causes me a strange discomfort, a decomposition running through my muscles. Yes, it seems that the ground has spoiled.

The soles of my feet contract; I feel as though each one is held in a different place. I can’t move gracefully, and breathing takes a tremendous effort. As I gain familiarity with this space, my legs’ strength fades—like two ropes that are no longer tense, thus loosening the lines supporting me. The volume of the fruit persists, though it’s not stable either. I feel the weight of my organs: primitive fruits that I gulped down without using my hands.

I feel the weight of my blood, whose flow has slowed down. I feel the weight of my eyes, concentrated on those fruits that do not fall. And the more they look at them, the more they weigh me down. I see the loose ones wobble, silently recomposing their alignment. The hanging ones sway with suspicious caution. I would like for one of them to fall into my hand. Before they would fall from branches, I suppose. Now none of them fall…)

Bruno Enciso, curator