Body

Sitting in the shade of a large fig tree, I asked him where all the blood would end up. He, in his wise way, told me how nothing was ever lost, how that red liquid, scarlet and clotted, that oxidised stream which stopped a little further on, was collected by calloused hands and offered as a delicacy to the plants.

Watered down, it flowed directly from the slaughterhouse drainage channel to the clods of earth, there, just beyond the shadow of the fig tree.

That flagrant way of being placed in such a cycle – absorbed by earth, sucked up by trees and shrubs – made me think that earth, plants and animals, all of us live fully as one single body.

To my father.

For about a month I worked a portion of the land, tilling it, sowing salad and watering it with a mixture of water and blood, my blood.

This phase of work is summarized in a video that the public can watch while I eat the salad.