Suéñame como a tus falos (Dream of me like your phalluses)

I grew up around the morbid conception of the genitals. They are not named, not looked, not touched; they seemed to exist under a halo of respect, but from a place of ignorance. I began to dream of phallic rooms when I decided to explore other versions of some scenarios, such as the anti-venereal posters that were disseminated during the Spanish civil war, “what if the roles of those characters had been reversed? If the phallus is already protagonist in every corner, why not make it more evident?" I thought. Later other meanings were included, since not only men have a penis. The more time I spent blurring shadows, the more difficult it was for me to divide those fragments that might as well had been vulvas, from those that were not. It should be noted that I did this work after having read "Hurricane Season" (Fernanda Melchor), "The Yellow Wallpaper" (Charlotte Perkins Gilman) and "As I lay dying" (William Faulkner), I think that, among all those words, I could also read this landscape.

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"It is dull enough to confuse the eye in following, pronounced enough to constantly irritate and provoke study, and when you follow the lame uncertain curves for a little distance they suddenly commit suicide - plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy themselves in unheard of contradictions" -  The Yellow Wallpaper, C.P. Gilman