By Cecilia G. Salinas
For the article see: Feral Worlding Magazine, A messy Journal of Biodesign, Care & Shared Delusion – ISSUE 01 (2026) – STAYING WITH THE TROUBLE – FWPress (London) editors Paul JJ Treichl and Nathanael Myers
[…]
As I scroll through scenes of brutality, genocide and total destruction in Palestine, I often grapple with an overwhelming sense of powerlessness. The sheer magnitude of indifference to their suffering pushes me to the limits of language and I instead of using words, I draw and color. However, I have been asked myself how do I visualize this destruction without reproducing colonial perspectives? How can I avoid commodifying suffering in an age where social media transforms pain into a spectacle for emotional impact, political leverage, or moral superiority—often without prompting meaningful action? How do I authentically represent the systemic causes of suffering? In search of answers to these questions, I have created a series of mixed-media artworks using pencils, acrylic, watercolor, and pastels. These pieces come from my inner dialogue with the concepts introduced above and aim to capture the interconnectedness of violence and resistance, and the enduring hope that life persists in the face of destruction.
Through this series, I try to find answers. Each work is an attempt to understand the connection between violence and resistance, between destruction and the resilience of life. For even in ruins, there is hope—the hope that life will go on. With colors and words I explore the connection between capitalism and environmental destruction, the colonial demand for ‘universal truths,’ and Indigenous peoples’ struggle to maintain their own ways of understanding and living in nature
This series consists of 14 A4-sized artworks, created with pencils, acrylic, watercolor, and pastels, and 7 poems.
Palestine
The bloody sweet juice
And the black stones,
Raining on the world.
The roots hidden in the black seeds carry the memories
— the bitter, sorrowful salt of an entire people.
But they will sprout again
as the watermelon once did.
Torn from the dry African savannas,
from animals that found water in the shade of thorn bushes,
from the insects that bred them,
and forced to cross borders and skies.
In every watermelon lies a thread of the fabric of the earth.
To grow is to make a promise.
Jorden taler til oss med hele sin kropp.
Hvert lag bærer en sang,
et eget språk,
en hvisken.
Jorda er skapelser vevd sammen av tråder
som ambisjonen river i stykker
ser som død materie,
verdifulle «ressurser» —
men det er selve livet som trevles opp,
knebles og tvinges til taushet.
Mine besteforeldre visste at
ingen flette lages av én tråd alene.
De visste det i et språk
jeg ennå ikke forstår.
I morges lærte jeg
at å høre til, er å lytte.
Om jeg våger å lytte,
kan jeg kanskje også huske igjen —
kanskje veve meg tilbake til jorda?
Og kanskje det er slik:
at når vi hører etter,
hører vi til,
og da kan minnene passerer gjennom hjertet på nytt,
og få oss til å forstå jordens språk på nytt:
hele dens vesen,
dens sanger,
dens vise hviskninger.
La tierra nos habla con todo su ser.
Cada una de sus capas tiene una canción,
un lenguaje propio,
un susurro.
La tierra son creaciones tejidas con hilos
que la ambición desgarra,
ve como materia muerta,
valiosos “recursos” —
pero es la vida misma la que se deshace,
amordaza y silencia.
Mis abuelos sabían que
ninguna trenza se hace con un solo hilo.
Lo sabían en un lenguaje
que aún no comprendo.
Esta mañana aprendí
que pertenecer es escuchar.
Si me atrevo a escuchar,
quizás también pueda recordar de nuevo —
¿quizás volver a tejerme con la tierra?
Y tal vez sea así:
que cuando escuchamos,
pertenecemos,
y entonces los recuerdos pueden volver a pasar por el corazón,
y hacernos comprender de nuevo el lenguaje de la tierra:
todo su ser,
sus canciones,
sus sabios susurros.
