After I watched a documentary about a garden, poisonous in its entirety, I asked myself what kind of person, what kind of woman, would have the intention and desire to grow and create a garden like that? What function would the garden fulfil in her life? Why was the toxicity essential? The proximity of fatality and death? Why would the garden never feel as a threat to her?
Out of all these questions, Estefania arose in my mind, her overarching voice, her failed life. I had discovered her core. Venomous growth. The inward turned outward. The inhalation of defeat and immunity. I knew that Estefania was a mother from the very beginning. Nurturing her family would stand in direct opposition to nurturing her garden. She is torn within herself.
Whatever is broken inside of her is allowed to grow in her environment, overshadowing and foreshadowing the collateral detriment around her. And she absorbs it. It belongs to her. She is a collector and she owns all the tragedies that stem from her, from her body, all the bodies before her.
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“Bildnis der Frau Eugenie Schaeuffelen, geb. Bruckmann” by Hans Makart (1840-1884)