MADRID.- Incompatible Wounds with Life has its origins on one decision: I don’t want to have children. My body turns into a threat on society. My body turns into a protest. For a period of one year I confronted a family picture from my childhood, I confronted billboards, beggars, supermarkets and my daily life. I did it to degrade it. My intent is that every photograph is a battle and at the same time a loss. Incompatible Wounds with Life is rabid, a fury, a step towards my existential process.

Broken Blossoms is an interview with a journalism student who was making a thesis on contemporary theatre who made me distrust the consequences of intelligence and importance. I worked with a group of mentally handicapped people to make those consequences relative. Testosterone is called thought. I prefer to call it power, to make me even sicker. This action is a way to express, once more, the scorn I feel for that thing called theatre. It is therefore, one more form of self-destruction.

I am not Pretty sprung up as an idea from a personal experience that happened to me on a daily basis, the routine and taboo, of sexual violence against women, which most frequently ends up in rape and death. It is a fear from birth, we can say that it is something branded, an inverted privilege, as if us girls were born with a scarlet letter hanging from the stomach, a stigma that introduces us to the Russian roulette. To end the tyranny of revenge using beauty is disobedience.