We regulate ourselves in a world we can no longer master. Sonido sordo is what's left afterward, the evidence of an already deserted speed. That suspended instant following a head-on crash confesses the impossibility of maintaining a rhythm -what was is now interrupted and what's to come doesn't yet exist. But desire is always dislocated, investing unconditionally. In Sofía Alazraki's exhibition the pieces are constitutively disturbed by desire: matter is turned on.