Watery Words

My nature is movement. My nature is fluid.

I don’t know anything else than shapeless-

ness and adaptation. My body is shallow

and deep and as big as everything I embrace.

Lose yourself in the meanderings of my waves.

A liquid body is a body who receives and changes

shape in order to receive. A liquid body is a body

with no definite identity.1 My character is aque-

ous, molded and carved by the matters who enter me.

Inside, outside. I can touch them, skimming the harder

substance with my extremities — I can feel them, when

they move and dance inside my watery womb. There are

bodies who come and go, and bodies I’ve always shared my

existence with since the beginning. They are entities within

my being and we reverberate together weaving an endless

symphony that traces our existence.2

My fertile venter nourishes my planet, through plants and living

organisms, through minerals, rocks, waves, sand, shells, algae,

liquids. Through constant movement I escape deadly stillness,

through constant reproduction I ensure the stream of life contin-

ues. I preserve ancestral knowledge in my recesses and bestow to

other bodies.3

My violated venter is in danger, threatened by years of exploitation

and carelessness. Lethal, iridescent waters flow, twirling and chok-

ing every being in their way.4 Unfurling plumes bleach every trace of

life, leaving nothing but breathless whiteness behind. Can you feel

your bowels burning? Can you feel the caress of deathly gas softly

touching your body?

Leaks, holes, craters, drills, wrecks, bombs. My womb is a grave —

memory the unlamented deceased. My darkest depths recollect dreads

of the past. My body is the dark place where painful memories are

pulled back, in the desperate attempt to conceal them.5 I am the tan-

talising space that absorbs trauma and numbs the past. But without

memory there is no progression, no possible development.6 In an un-

stable body the slightest prompting can provoke excessive reactions,

and my nature is circular, fertile. Remember that.

Past and present mingle in my waters, diluted in an atemporal

solution that obscures the effect of decisions taken over years.

It is easy to not think about the problem, when it fades into

my flows. But traces of it remain, undiluted, spectral remind-

ers that violently demand attention. Oily spots, dark holes,

bleeding cracks, rusty pieces, swollen bodies. Through

me, everything comes ashore, breeding the cycle of death

and life again and again. Through me, everything comes

ashore and ignoring it is a choice that cannot be taken

again. In the fluid dance of things, what is left behind

flows back and reemerges. And my nature is impartial,

embracing all with my watery waves.

My body is living movement. My body is fluid. In the

eternal dance of things, we are bodies who belong

to each other. Don’t kill the dance, keep it alive.


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Beatrice Cera is an art worker, curator, and designer who lives in The Hague. Since all forms of life on this planet are interconnected, moving towards a radical manifestation of care feels crucial to her. In her works, she takes the stance of a collective practice as a process to foster political responsibility.