Carolina Fangueiro <title>



This Screen is Worth Saving
Marmól, Porto
2025





As the screen becomes an undisputed extension of our bodies, witnessing every moment from birth till death, but also acting on the body, shaping it intimately, socially, politically, fighting this hybridity feels pointless. The home screen is the entry point into our devices; they welcome us into the digital extension of our bodies. And we make a home of this hybrid we recognize as ourselves.

We are welcomed by two screens, each with a screen of their own. Inside the inside screens are metal bodies, twisted and pointy over another seemingly metal surface. They shine an undefined light that they reflect, over a black graphite screen. This screen was made by a hand. We enter. A bit further, we are faced with a kind of space, a structure of something that seems to be in the process of being built but not yet finished, as if one of the interconnecting points or one of the strings connecting this structure could change at any moment. Something moves here. This space is interior exterior, it seems to be defining an interiority on the exterior. Outside and inside are merged into a familiar hybridity, one we seem to know intimately, bodily. This isn’t a passive space, although it is suspended, and you can see the sky through it and it may even seem to be standing still, gently waving with the breeze. This is a space built on weapons. We know this, it had been already suggested in the home screens that just greeted us — those tiny, shining weapons. Then we enter and we see the space is crossed by spears of some kind. And they call us to them. They demand our attention only to confront us, when we stand facing them, looking them in the eye, threatening us with their sharp blades. But they are not violent, though they do not let us forget their strength. As we answer their call for proximity, we see the blades were made by hand. They’re imperfectly pointy and sharp. The millions of scratches that make up their surface record a hand motion, repeated carefully a thousand times over. The hand that holds the screen made this home.









Installation view
Plastic, aluminum, iron




Installation view
Plastic, aluminum, iron





SICK SCREEN SAUNA
Artist’s edition
Poem by Inês Malheiro
Edition of 20, signed and numbered







Acknowledgements
Francisca Barros (No Entulho)
Inês Malheiro
Rafaela Lima
Luna Gil
Pedro Huet
Rita Senra
André Godinho
Paulo Mariz
Matias Romano Aleman