System Disintegration

Imagine faces that aren’t just faces, but manifestos. They’re like billboards displaying chaos—not aesthetic, fashionable chaos, but the chaos of existence. Cracks, pixels, unfinished lines, like those unfulfilled promises we make to ourselves in the morning in front of the mirror. “It’ll get better,” but it never gets better. Women’s faces. People’s faces. Faces that change into something not entirely human. As if someone wanted to fix them with a glitch, because they don’t fit the system. But the system doesn’t fix them, it just breaks them. And they break them. Each one of those faces says, “No, this isn’t just my story. This is your mother, your sister, your friend. Look and pretend you don’t see it.

You look at me and you see a woman. And there are pixels. There is noise. Someone is fixing me, or maybe breaking me. I don't know. Systemic violence is not a story from a newspaper. It's a portrait. Only other people's faces are visible in high resolution. Mine is not.