I begin by looking closely. I tread on the earth, which, divided by lines, seems endless. In the beginning, there was the seed. Hidden underground, it is condemned to a fleeting existence, with no possibility of renewal. Monocultures have homogenised the landscape to such an extent that I can no longer see what lies beyond, beyond the fields. I imitate the machines that work at night, reversing the natural cycle of plants, which depend on sunlight. Sometimes I challenge myself to enter their labyrinth, hoping to find the end of the field. I repeat these visits until exhaustion, until the sterile fruit is ready to be harvested.
