Strange, unsettling characters from an altered world gaze out at us from the walls of the room. On numerous sheets of pearlescent paper, Barbara Brugola’s hand has traced drawings in which figures seem to crystallize from a dreamlike vision. There are little girls with cat faces, young men with rabbit heads, babies that provoke no tenderness. They inhabit a minimal landscape, composed of spreading stains that are holes, forest, swamp, mold.

The cat-girls sit, stiff and alone, on their little chairs. They hold a small bouquet of flowers in their laps and protect it with one hand, as if shielding it from the world. Their legs are clad in shiny red boots, the object of desire for every girl in the world. And yet, there is no joy in their gaze, altered by the sensation of impending danger.

Not far away are some young men with rabbit features. One wears an aggressive black leather suit; another lounges, disheveled and half-naked, on a chair. His hands are tied, but he seems at ease nonetheless, just like the others who move freely and confidently. Their gaze is insidious, the look of beings with potentially evil intent. Their thoughts, no doubt, conspire against the safety of the kittens. A newborn—one none of us would wish to have birthed—has toenails painted a feminine red and a mask covering its face, depriving it of sight.

In this animal world of victims and aggressors, our usual conventions do not dictate the distribution of roles: here, the rabbit is the predator, and the cat becomes the victim. What matters is that each of these beings is a double. As if to suggest that, deep down, humans are merely a mask worn by animal instinct. It wouldn’t be hard to trace an erudite genealogy for Barbara Brugola’s hybrid figures. But the tension of her autistic and angry kittens, her grotesque and ambivalent baby, the ambiguous and menacing expression of her rabbits, do not stem from literature. Instead, they arise from a more intimate realm; it is the depths of the psyche that generate monsters, giving shape to this fantastical world that offers no comfort. It is within the dream that bestiality merges with the human, allowing obsession to take on a tangible form. And yet, it is striking to see that within the frightening cycle of this nightmare, there is no surrender. The kittens remain vigilant—the struggle continues.

Gabi Scardi