This exhibition is not a view of the body. It is a view through it. What is presented here are not figures in the classical sense. They are organisms in a state of dissolution, vessels of fear, carriers of collective memory, viscous simulations of a humanity that no longer knows any fixed form. In these works, flesh becomes liquid. Skin is not a boundary but a membrane. The subject does not appear but steps out of itself. Overflowing, translucent, fragmented. Each sculpture, each image shows a body in suspension, caught between simulation and anatomy, between horror and beauty, between gesture and violence, between life and digital immortality. These bodily landscapes belong to no classical mythology. They map a posthuman topography, a world in which identity is no longer a stable category but a fleeting aggregation of fluid, memory, code, and metastasis. We encounter humanity as a bloody archaic relic. The twins, intertwined and devouring each other. The patriarch residing within his own scarred flesh. The riders on transparent beasts, heralds of a frozen apocalypse. Couples dancing while simultaneously disintegrating. Creatures folding, unravelling, consuming themselves. These works emerge from two fears. The fear of losing form, and the fear of never having possessed it. They are metaphors for what we refuse to see. The inside turned outward. The digital that reflects us. The social that shapes and dissolves us at once. Corpus Liquefactus is not an exhibition about the body. It is a reanimation of the bodily in the moment of its collapse. An attempt to think the human not through form, but through its dissolution. Not to preserve it, but to read it. Like a manuscript in decay, written in blood, glass, and code.