Marisa Insúa

Introspection, we live in a constant simulation, in an eternal fiction.
“Inside, without doubt, I feel that lies the truth. A truth that I never come to, we never come to tell but which is there, crossed by the present and history. I like that, it gives me satisfaction and pleasure and, at the same time, a sensation of deceit. If we never tell all that we think. Don’t we live perhaps in a constant simulation, an eternal fiction?”


Since my early childhood I have felt my body as a limit, an abysmal boundary I can barely get through and that obliges me to return inside myself to seek shelter.
Inside, of course, there is no threat but a kind of self-defense and protection. Like a hand that pulls in I come back to myself again and again. And this is how my thoughts (my brain, perhaps) became my house, my home. If my body is a limit, inside me is the whole universe. That’s how I built myself and understood that there are many different ways of being in the world.