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Thinking Flesh Thinking Flesh is a non-profit feminist organisation dedicated to promoting sensory experiences. Events + Collaborations
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Does the sight of me make you squirm? Does it give you the creeps? Juliette Puch .puch and Gemma Saboritt  make our hair...
17/05/2026

Does the sight of me make you squirm? Does it give you the creeps? Juliette Puch .puch and Gemma Saboritt make our hairs stand on end - ‘ponen los pelos de punta’ in their s*x positive, feminist s*x-worker-driven film takeover, ‘Pelos de Punta’, at Kubrick’s Korova Milkbar is served a kick in the teeth - or the balls! (spoiler alert of ‘s ‘Pikachu V. Piñera’) - as the duo lug a refrigerator from street to auditorium, reciting their manifesto of ‘preciosas pero precarias’. Like a pair of handymen hired to do the manual lifting in bejewelled corsets and dagger heels, their entry upsets the social borders cast between the private and public, the legible and illegible, questioning what forms of labour are considered palpable and worthy of public recognition. Documenting their work, they puncture the artifice of heteronormativity, as observed by Michael Warner and Lauren Berlant in their 1998 essay ‘Sex in Public’. Sinking back into the armchair, I devour the documentaries and cinematic shorts, from Fara Renaud’s .j.renaud touching, Greta Gerwin-esque ode to friendship, ‘Dyson’ to Juliette Puch’s .puch potent, pleasure-Domme, ‘Pussy Honey’ - my visceral reactions uncontained, they muddle in collective osmosis with the remaining audience’s. Exposing their lived experiences in a normative, public environment of the local cinema, the collective of artists and s*x workers, alongside researcher .ndreacorral.s legitimise what our society deems illicit or dissident, reminding us the borders we maintain are more porous than they seem.

*xpositive *xworkers feminism

Where did it go? Where’s my phone? Where’s my phone? Where did I leave?Where’d I go?Where’d I go?  The refrain of Mitski...
15/05/2026

Where did it go?
Where’s my phone?
Where’s my phone?
Where did I leave?
Where’d I go?
Where’d I go?

The refrain of Mitski’s 2026 song Where’s my phone? loops round and around in my head. The 35-year-old Japanese-American pop-indie singer-songwriter summons the swerving dizziness and malaise of being a woman today. But this is not about regurgitating the worn sad girl trope, but rather sitting in the discomfort of the in-between. The discomfort, or what Brazilian-Ukrainian writer Clarice Lispector posits as, ‘darkness… where the two eyes of that soft panther glow. The darkness is my cultural broth.’

Lured into it, I become, “Like a bug floating in the melted amber / Of a citronella candle”, as Mitski woos, or a single leaf, stained in chlorophyll, sliding amongst the dense canopy of Tania Candiani’s beating forest. I’ll find my refuge there between the periodic flashing lamps, oscillating spectres of light merging worlds together. Inspired by a Valencian book of botany, the Mexican artist’s installation at , titled Radix, musters the pages to life, allowing new dialogues to form through sound and light play; discomfort becoming a surrender to the deep green.

I take another sip. At the , the broth turns scalding, as I encounter the wolf pack, Yolanda Alba’s ‘jaurí’. After spending time with s*xually dissident and gender nonconforming communities in Mexico, the artist’s moving image assemblage of bodies nuzzling, howling and yelping together is celebration and reminder of acknowledging the primal within, and the rewards of processing trauma through collective caress.

Contemporary conditioning has rendered us privy to associating our pain and loneliness as a fixed entity, something contained within ourselves. Yet, I find affinity with the brutes and the microbes, the reverb of the forest, its warm hum, plunges me deeper into that darkness, still.

Attention / Culpability / Tension / Ex - tension / Restraint / Freedom / Visibility / Erasure   Which lives float on the...
30/04/2026

Attention / Culpability /
Tension / Ex - tension / Restraint / Freedom /
Visibility / Erasure

Which lives float on the margins and which stories rise, elavated? Q***r Palestinian-German artist Mudar Al-Khufash summons these unsettling truths in a unique social experiment and performative-lecture ‘Dialectics of Erasure’

Arguably, recent changes in the consumption of news - reportage snipped into sound bites and palpable morsels of reels and clips - have accelerated our circulation and awareness of violence. Yet, to us, the sheltered Western spectator, conflict remains something that occurs ‘there’, away from ‘here’, coated in a synthetic skin of feeling propelled by media and press (Sontag 2004). Al-Khufash’s project, anchored in direct audience participation, summons us to look eye to eye at the insidious mechanisms of settler colonialism - a present constant, not a past event - as we become implicated in his work. Taking to the streets, bodies amassing in former sites of erasure - such as Ives Street in London, where Palestinian political cartoonist Naji al-Ali was assassinated in 1987 - ‘Dialectics of Erasure’ triggers us to think through feeling; a visceral literacy. For q***r people, this is felt even more strongly, as we have had to fight for our visibility in public spaces.

As Al-Khufash told me recently in an interview for , “I don’t want people to just intellectually think about what I’m saying, but to feel it viscerally. I want them to feel the information that I’m sharing with them. Hearing that really made me think that we are aiming forward.”

‘Dialectics of Erasure: Settler Colonialism in Three Acts’ brought together with
is showing at the Theatre Deli in London on the 1st and 2nd May 2026. Tickets are available on the website
Full Q&A available on now. Read by clicking the

15/02/2026

In the golden words of the late, great Helen Chadwick

P**s Posy
1991

10/02/2026

The Fire Siren - stirring myth, magic and the divine feminine in The Apocalypse Files

Bumper vests, felt harnesses and spindling jagged armour matted into industrial haute couture,  provides a haptic thrill...
30/01/2026

Bumper vests, felt harnesses and spindling jagged armour matted into industrial haute couture, provides a haptic thrill in Transmisión Parachoques, their solo show at Valencia until 30.01.26. Lacquered metal bonnets, where countryside visions and high rises of verbena spill into one another are sites of amorphous potential. Masculine/Feminine fuzz in sensual textural protrusions and cotton candy bulges, setting gender up in flames and turbo charging us somewhere far more alluring - a q***r landscape of a ‘not yet here’ (José Esteban Muñoz, 2009).
◼️
Meanwhile in London, cars are traded for Barbie dolls as fulfills feminine fantasies of plastic playthings, peonies and pearls, swirling in sepia. Objects aligned with normative standards of beauty: false lashes, stockings, pretty purses and lingerie - haunt and look back at us, enacting what bell hooks terms the “oppositional gaze” (1992). Possessing an ethereal quality through her use of 19th century cyanotype and kallitype printing, pedestrian items turn into spectres, scrutinising the mirrors we hold up to society - the value placed on cis, heteronormative whiteness as aesthetic ideal. How mundane and artificial these constructs really are, as reminds us: “Racism has the ability to halt our imagination”. With an astute lens, Gregory opens new visions of being at the until 01.03.26
◼️
It is in these inbetween spaces; the fissures and gaps that the magic occurs. I think back to Gregory’s subversion the Victorian practice of sending coded messages through photographing flowers when I stumble upon the telling sway of a floral bouquet in Jean Genet’s film, ‘Un chant d’amour’ (1950) at (until 12.04.26). Loaded with q***r eroticism and mesmerising visuals, power and sublimation, fear and desire wrestle in the silence of the black and white. In an idyllic forest scene, two lovers chase one another, forming new worlds, a ‘science fiction’, borrowing reading of Muñoz. What futures are revealed to us when we ignite their potential?

***rtheory

BLÜM: Valentinskka’s  (Valentina Gorbalán) three-quarters-of-an-hour-or-so song and dance about the testy waters of grow...
18/10/2025

BLÜM: Valentinskka’s (Valentina Gorbalán) three-quarters-of-an-hour-or-so song and dance about the testy waters of growing up; the loss of playfulness and fear of diving into the deep ocean of adulthood. As tropes more akin to a colossal mini feature-music video bleed onto the stage, I can’t help but think that even the formalities of the performing arts and theatre world have skewed with respect to growing dependencies on screen-based consumption (this is where the impressive visual effect of the metal chains thrust, smacked and whacked about Valentinskka’s accompanying dancers becomes lost, drowned out by their inevitably grating noise). However, the beauty of live performance ultimately lies in its rawness, and the aha! moment came when the Buenos-Aires born, Valencia-based artist dropped her guard and sank into her guitar-strumming ballad. Stripped bare of ornate tricks and wild gesticulations, her voice was clear and sincere: 𝘔𝘢𝘮á, 𝘺𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘷𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘳. 𝘔𝘢𝘮á, 𝘺𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘯𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘳. 𝘔𝘢𝘮á, 𝘺𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘷𝘪𝘢𝘫𝘢𝘳.
Behind the theatrics, fantastical eyes and elastic smiles lies a restless, hungry, lust for life. Valentinskka rediscovers that infant spark forever flickering within us - giving herself over to the moonlit sea, returning to the land of endless possibility.

Final image by

Took a left turn down writing lane and ended up ruminating over myths, magic and the make believe for a new series of sh...
17/09/2025

Took a left turn down writing lane and ended up ruminating over myths, magic and the make believe for a new series of short stories, ‘The Apocalypse Files’, (esp: ‘Cuadernos del Apocalipsis‘), composed by artist Johnfjunior and Lost in the Woods.
Nymphs of Neptune spraying life source from their breasts, Canova’s neoclassic visions solidifying the identities of cities; the beautiful violence of St. Teresa’s ecstatic episodes - stabbing sensation piercing her heart, that plump muscle that felt too much for this world; Mary Magdalen horrified expression forever suspended in time by terracotta prowess - these biblical, historical legends loomed over me as I travelled across Europe this summer. Time and space collapsed onto itself as I locked eyes with deities and Dürer’s witches, or when I caught my reflection in a mirror adorned in snakes, Medusa and I, intertwined, as the past rippled in the present. Listening to new friends retell the origin stories of their humble villages, the power of the oral tradition seeps further into my consciousness - stronger than the jarring streams of snapshots reproduced on screen; faux fictions, simulacra so persistent that the roar of an upriver stream catches me off guard; sudden frisson of dew on skin. recent retelling of the Horse Woman jolted a dormant memory once told to me by my family, of a relative cursed of the very same affliction - seeing a staircase for the very first time and descending it, backwards. Symptomatic of the time, I wonder what present equivalent would send us into fits of laughter? When imagination, authenticity and one’s very own voice seems to be shrinking under devices and digitalisation of all aspects of daily life, there is hope, magic and beauty in storytelling yet - and I’m so grateful to be a part of this literary collection, bringing the tale of ‘The Fire Siren’ very soon…

Stepping back in time a little, to when overcome by the abundant green of May, I began to put pen to paper for Contempor...
30/07/2025

Stepping back in time a little, to when overcome by the abundant green of May, I began to put pen to paper for Contemporary Lynx Magazine’s latest issue #2 Gardens.

Seduced by Artemis’s scent, which lingered potently in the blooming orange and floss silk trees wafting the city, and rose in unexpected flurries of crimson petals greeting me on pedestrian walks, these lines from 17th century poet Andrew Marvell’s ‘The Garden’ began to haunt me:

𝒮𝑜𝒸𝒾𝑒𝓉𝓎 𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓇𝓊𝒹𝑒
𝒯𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒹𝑒𝓁𝒾𝒸𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝓈𝑜𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒹𝑒

How could it possibly be? When many started the seasonal switch to popping pills in light of returning olfactory assaults, this refrain seemed like a mocking cackle. Yet Marvell’s century-old observation unearths our wrought connection to nature. We tend to draw boundaries between ourselves and the elements, the ordered and the unruly. We favour distinctions and categories, yet our natural world increasingly reminds us of how superficial such binary systems are. Catapult just a little further back in time to the DANA catastrophe of last October, which resulted in 223 fatalities and thousands of displaced communities. Triggering a discursive turn in the psyche of the people, the flash floods have left Valencia still grieving, processing, healing. With climate catastrophe now a programmed event, it became clear to me that to write about Gardens would be to instigate a discussion unravelling our attitudes towards nature, which had to begin local, at home. When the exploitation of our natural world is mirrored in the exploited of women and marginalised people under the late capitalist patriarchal system, I turned to the work of womxn, transfeminist and q***r artists in Valencia including Gemma Alpuente and Graham Bell Tornado of artist duo .erreria and artists further afield to draw new ways of questioning our flailing ‘garden state’.

‘Rising From the Mud: Q***r and Feminist Approaches to Ecological Emergency.’ is available to read now on the Contemporary Lynx Magazine website.

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