Serrano Rivas composes artworks like staged climates. Rather than presenting a discrete object to be judged, she engineers conditions—light, sound, fabric, optical devices—where perception becomes the protagonist. Her “fictions” are not stories with plot; they are narrative atmospheres, the kind you enter bodily, as if walking into a memory that hasn’t decided what it means yet. What distinguishes her practice is how it borrows from theatre without reproducing theatre. Space performs: curtains breathe, shadows choreograph across surfaces, sound folds time into loops. The viewer is not a spectator outside the scene but an active sensor inside a situation. This shift has critical force. It breaks the museum habit of consumption-by-glance and replaces it with duration, drift, and uncertainty. Meaning is not delivered; it is condensed, like humidity, through attention. Her work suggests that the politics of contemporary life operate atmospherically: through mood, ambient control, invisible technologies of influence. By sculpting the immaterial, she makes that ambient power perceptible. The fiction is precisely the medium by which reality is reorganized. Serrano Rivas teaches a kind of perceptual disobedience: to resist the demand for immediate interpretation, to stay with what hovers, to let the room’s subtle mechanics rewrite how you listen and look. In that hovering, the work becomes both sensorial and critical—an education in attunement.
