Two figures occupy a pale, scoured ground, worked up in ink until the paper itself reads as atmosphere rather than support. Both are built from the same vocabulary: bulbous, heavily massed bodies, limbs that terminate without hands, heads that carry the suggestion of a face without resolving into one. Eiriz lays the black down in dense passages and then abrades and reworks the surface, so the figures appear less drawn than excavated. The upper figure extends toward the lower with its limbs splayed. The lower one raises an appendage that reads, unmistakably, as a strike. The composition holds them at the instant of contact and refuses to resolve which of them initiated it.

That refusal is the point. Eiriz's monsters are conventionally read as the produced object of power, the citizen pruned and stunted into obedience, an image she herself explained through the practice of bonsai. What distinguishes this sheet within the series is that the figures are not being acted upon. They are acting, and they are acting on each other. The violence has no external author present in the picture and no direction that can be assigned. Read this way the work is a harder political statement than the passive monsters, because it proposes that the damage does not end with the damaged. What is done to a population becomes what the population does, and the transfer requires no supervision. Eiriz gives the retaliation nowhere to land except on its own kind.