What if our privatized nature, our dear machines, our complex urban systems, not only were not
inert but had interior lives, a whole cosmogony? Would Carolina Fusiliers’ landscapes be their
paradise? Their hell? Do they dream of us like we dream of owning them? If the long-running
ambition of science has been to disenchant the world and to organize everything that is knowable
into objective and rational categories, then Fusilier’s Angel Engines is resolved on doing the
opposite. It is not that this group of works are anti-science or irrational but they are open and
willing to speculate.
The artworks re-enchant the world, they overlap a poetic, non-linear narrative on our reality to
reveal an agency that could very well be there. The angel engines are in a world adjacent to ours
and relayed by a sassy, primal, fluid deity, an ally and knower of the inner-lives of our belongings,
a first cousin of electricity, a lost child of the sea. In Dreams of a Pipe Deity, a sound-piece
streaming out of a chrome-tipped seashell, this divinity describes their own embodiment and
omnipresence, their travels within our cotidianity and their wish to transform the banality of turning
on the faucet into an encounter with mysticism. They are a curious presence, a voice that scolds
us for our indifference and prods us into reassessing our place in the world. But that also sings
songs and offers themselves up in a tap-water sculpture for visitors to ingest in a sort of
communion rite, a reconciliation.
Fusilier’s paintings depict no place, an undefinable moment in history, they could be either pre-
human or post-human. They are portholes into the endless existence all around us, reconfiguring
the gallery as a ship flying over the uncanny. A utopia of retired metal objects where ridden of
mankind they get to do what they want: grow in spirals, melt into liquid, flow in and out of pools.
Fusilier speculates on the realities and futures available to us, but also on those accessible to our
artifacts or what we generically call our resources: our waters, metals, oils. She follows Ursula K
Le Guin's advice: "One way to stop seeing trees, or rivers, or hills, only as 'natural resources' is to
class them as fellow beings—kinfolk.” 1 And she de-objectifies, connects, spreads thick empathy all
over a weird landscape.
Carolina Fusilier (b. 1985) lives and works in Mexico City and Buenos Aires. Having completed
postgraduate program at Soma, Mexico City in 2017, Fusilier participated in numerous exhibition
including, most recently, “74 million million million tons”, a group exhibition at the Sculpture Center,
New York. She is currently part of Open Sessions 2018-2020, two-year program resulting in
Drawing Center, New York. Fusilier will be a guest student in Dusseldorf academy with Prof. Rita