XY XX

The body as a battlefield in the painful and endless night of prostitution.

An inner courtyard faces a row of rooms where prostitutes take their clients. At an opposite window, the photographer witnesses what should remain unseen. Prostitution does not exist in the absence of a legal framework that lays down the limits of something that is public knowledge. In this context, sex becomes another control mechanism of the system. In a nation-state that is progressively losing its sovereignty to the pervasive forms of capitalism, it can no longer regulate interactions between people (through police, army, etc.), but rules directly over human nature. Everything can be bought; everybody is at risk of being occupied and destroyed.

The digital noise ends up gobbling bodies, exhausting them until they are violently devoured. The flesh, tyrannized, becomes pixels, just abstract data devoid of any human quality. This shattered body is the battlefield on which the prostitutes defend themselves in their dark and never-ending nightmare.

This overwhelming noise, this sticky mass that unforgivably drags us along, is also our own unconscious. It is a place where we don’t want to be, surrounded by voices we don't want to hear. It is a place that we know exists but we don't want to see.