The pandemic laid use bare. It exposed us. It found us with nothing but the clothes on our backs. And with that we had to shuffle the silence, the confinement, the narrowness. With that we had to face the mirror. We had to face that other person we were living with. Suddenly we realized that this other person was ourselves. So it was. Captivity turned us existential. Turned me existential. It forced me to look at myself as one would observe their object of study. To reckon what I was carrying in the vessel with which I intended to cross the storm that was hovering over us. To analyze what tools I was counting on to give battle against this backdrop of invisible enemies. Nothing more than myself. My armor, my face. An avatar. That avatar that we turn ourselves to be on social media. That avatar which is also the mask that we wear every day, that we sometimes own so many versions of. Life is a Carnival. But suddenly the Carnival turned dark, silent, and the only light left was shed on that plastic face that protected us. What was it protecting? What was behind it? What did we lay in front of it? And, how did we survive the animal experience of throwing ourselves every day into this war for survival that immersion in the modern world implies? What sinks us? What keeps us afloat?

 

This analysis led me to work with my mask. Your mask. The masks. Because my face is the face of a generation. My face is also the face of a gender on struggle. Mine is also the face of disillusionment. It’s also the face of hope. 

 

I took my picture. A picture uploaded to social networks. A nice picture. A storefront picture. And I captured the essential features of that covered eyes face that did not return my gaze. I generated a stamp. Because, as well as the multinational companies and the corner drugstore, we people also carry our brand. That figure which expresses our individuality. Passport picture. Three quarter profile picture. We’ve all been there. We’ve all cried a little because of the flash. And yet, very disposed and willful, we take our selfie and post it on social media. Because we know, deep down, that our face is nothing more than information. And, what is that information? What is it hiding? What does it reveal? 

 

Each photo is a puzzle that we try to put together without showing the crack that separates the pieces. I took the picture and broke it. I wanted to see what was behind. Undress me. Unravel myself. Shatter myself. Hang myself. Expose myself. See myself. And in that process I continue. Trying to understand what keeps me up and what scuttles me. Which philosophies and charms protect me. Why and what I do I get up for every day and take my place in the circus. Because all of us, ultimately, sometimes, feel like martyrs or gods.

 

Every day we kill a little bit of ourselves to survive. And another bit is born, or reborn, or recycled. We are matter in constant motion. We live fragmented, exploding inside. Mental, greedy, crazy, angry, dreamy, loving, ruthless, unconscious, eager, powerful, dominated. And yet, every day we find the strength to get up. Because, paraphrasing Schopenhauer, we are indigent beings, and we need that brush with the outside world to survive. So we create this beautifully fake avatar for it to play our game of life.