Susanna Inglada
All Parts Of Us

[En anglais]

Severed limbs, white, black, brown, clenched in woven patterns, spark collective memories of drastic punishments for theft. Perhaps these limbs hanging in limbo are ghosts of amputated hands, legs, and feet. They invite visitors downstairs, to an underground space where most mobile connections fades and the city disappears. More limbs, this time attached to bodies, assume improbable acrobatic poses resembling jointed paper puppets (The Warriors, 2023). Their faces—noses, eyes, and mouths collaged in different colours—recall the cubist paper assemblages of Pablo Picasso, Georges Braque, and Juan Gris. Sometimes dancing, sometimes fighting, Inglada’s groups of people are there to symbolize, as the show’s title indicates, all parts of us: the sensitive, the cruel, the fearful, and the weak.

The main space presents a forest of enormous columns of braided hands (El Bosque, 2025), connecting roofs to basements, or perhaps the sky to the depths. Fingers interlaced as if to save each other portray unity, a longing for community and peace. Their two-dimensionality communicates from two perspectives: the front is mirrored in the back, the paper surface thus becoming a portal to traverse. Beyond is a monumental mural of folded body parts (Ojos Cerrados, 2025). The title, which translates as “closed eyes,” sets the tone: the eyes are not resting but refusing to bear witness. Intertwined around a ladder—representing the hope for escape—the bodies block it, remaining stuck and sabotaged. Or perhaps they are dead: this could be a common grave, the gathering of bodies in the underworld awaiting the sound of angels’ bugles. Inglada, rightly, does not resolve the ambiguity; both readings implicate us equally.