We Become Liquid on a Wednesday Afternoon, is a dual-channel video installation filmed across two spaces: a hospital room and a garden. A mother and her child. Each screen holds what the other sees, forming a shifting exchange of presence across distance. The work unfolds through small gestures—light, bedsheets, insects, a body in motion—where connection appears through fragments. A poetic text moves alongside the images, following the rhythms of memory, play, and care. The piece remains close to separation, where bodies seem, at times, to loosen—becoming momentarily liquid.

As we both bite into the fruit we become liquid on a Wednesday afternoon.

Emilio – Why are your holding my hand so tight?
Mother – Is because the sun hits my eyes, is because you are not near.


Now is day and suddenly it is day again. As I turn my back to open a window you escape. We take the risk of forgetting ourselves every time I’m here. Emilio, you do not care, you are anonymous you are everything and anything…


He jumps like a frog.


BOOM!!!


He exists…Again.


Emilio – Mum, are you there?
Mother – Yes, here I am.


It matters today that the shadows taste like blackberries because they fall on top of the pond, they entangle the fish with the sky. If we were solid, similar to pebbles, we would play at the bottom of the pond, but we are not solid…so we float.


Emilio – Cuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrr, cuuuuurrrrrrrr, cuuuuurrrrrrr, cuuuuurrrrrrr, that is how doves call their mates, Can you do it, Mum? Try it while I build a tower.


I wait with the rhythm of the bedsheets, folding and unfolding, and the tempo of the light that does not stop blinking. I need more than two arms to hold on. I’m like an insect: scolopendra, flower fly, winged beetle, dragonfly, ant, spider, a wasp.


Emilio – How does the scolapedra breathe under the soil?

Is it like being underwater, the soil?
Does it have lungs, Mum?
Does it take deep breaths as it devours crickets?


 Mother – It inhales and exhales emotionally.

2026@ErendiraVioleta