Bestial metallic moment, body against body in a carbonized world. Foam drips down the chassis like a wicked whisper of delights. Eyes lock, tongues clash, a quick spell of lust. Sweat, saliva, and soap.

In his first solo exhibition, Juno B. constructs a space defined by suggestive provocations and charged atmospheres, moving between industrial brutality, bodily vulnerability, and the uncertainties that emerge along the way. Machine, flesh, and mystery; suspense, risk, and libido intertwine in a process of continuous reinvention.

The inscription “MET WET” announces the spirit of the exhibition. The micropoem plays with encounter and wetness, friction and lubrication. The word slips between sound and sense, like laughter at the moment when desire meets its object. Beyond wordplay, the piece performs a gesture that announces eroticism and risk as the driving force of what is to come.

On the gallery’s mezzanine, emerge the Fountains: stacks of tire inner tubes fitting together like layers of an obscure topology. Fountains of water and steam, hovering ambiguously between solemnity and absurdity. Caustic humor corrodes the ornamental ambitions of classical sculpture or kitsch, relocating the fountain to an industrial and grotesque territory. At the same time, the circular, repetitive form of these rings suggests something deeper: the torus, a continuous surface without edge, hollow at the center—a geometry that, as Lacan proposed, can figure the subject’s desire: always circling an impossible void, always searching, always in motion. What remains is impulse: never satiation, only flow.

This subjective dimension reverberates in the video Those Falls, installed in an adjacent room. Under the chiaroscuro of an automotive workshop—a cross between a body shop and car wash—fragmented scenes steep the exhibition in a cinematic atmosphere. Amid mechanical rotation and the hardness of steel sheets, a sudden decisive scene emerges: two trans boys approach tenderly, exchange caresses, and lose themselves in a delicious kiss. Intimacy erupts in the heart of the industrial space, instilling a dissonance between the mechanical and the corporal. Here, every soapy wash over metal is pure sensation and metaphor—a release of energy, libidinal fluidity.

The title Feral hangs over the exhibition like a multifaceted key. It refers to the lugubrious and sinister, echoing our current ecological moment, in which we perpetually coexist with peril and dread. Yet Feral is not only about threat and desolation—it is also vitality. It may also describe an animal that escaped domestication and returned to the wild, representing all that is untamable, unnameable, that eludes language. It alludes to the indomitable body that refuses to submit to the norms and disciplines of gender and social conduct. Feral is the razor’s edge between tension and arousal. It is the chance to laugh within collapse. The possibility of embracing the materiality of the industrial world by inventing new forms of life. The surrender to the insurgent voracity of encounters and fatal affections.

By Germano Dushá