This work is possible thanks of the generous photographers Selma Sparano, Elena Beyhaut and Adelina Pintos. I thanks also to Diego de los Campos for the tecnical support and developement of the code, and Yhoan Cáceres for the drill.&#x20;

The images are composed of combinations of one of 23 different pictures of privets trees in Santa Lucía wetlands in Melilla, Uruguay in the background, and one of 24 different images of holes made in privet trunks with a hand drill, and one of 19 images putting poison on the trunks, and one of the 37 portraits with a hand drill in the front.&#x20;

I could see it from afar. It is a large ceibo, like I had not seen before. He lives in some wetlands, I'm not going to say exactly which one so as not to imply it, but I can say that he is on the east bank, tucked between the grasslands, contemplating from above. When I saw it for the first time it was loaded with flowers. I loved him, and I understood why men give flowers to those they want to conquer. You feel something. It's true that those flowers weren't especially for me, but seeing them like that left an impression on me. It is a tree that stands alone. There are no others of his size in that area. I don't know about others, but I haven't seen them. And I have always liked trees, and I pay attention. Nothing matters more to me than a leafy and strong tree.

On the other hand, these privets are everywhere, they close everything with their way of advancing and getting among the others, pressing and pressing, and so fast. They leave neither space nor light for the slower ones, such as ceibos and espinillos. There are many others who disappear, but I am going to mention these two, nothing more, because they are my friends. Because they are cute. Because I love them. I care. More than privets. So straight and smooth. I don't know, they don't have to continue with this massacre in the impunity of public opinion's ignorance.

Of course the government should provide funds to exterminate the privets. Of course I would have to fine whoever planted them. But they don't. There is child poverty of more than 30 percent. Who is going to take care of the trees, when the children do not eat well, nor are they guaranteed anything?

The way to kill them, according to research from the National Institute of Agricultural Research of Uruguay, is to make some holes with a drill in the trunk, and put poison inside. It's not easy, but it's not that difficult either. It is expensive. But at least I'm going to kill one. Since I can't kill others.

The extermination of privets and my need for love.&#x20;

It all started because I liked a pair of pants. I was at the Juan Manuel Blanes Museum, and a woman who approached the place where I was chatting with Marcos Ibarra about the recently inaugurated exhibition “Meeting them” in which we both participated with great joy, and exhibited side by side , if I remember correctly. I know we were there, almost hugging. At that, I see this lady smiling, and I don't remember who or how it was that we introduced ourselves and exchanged a few words. I remember the black color of his pants seen from above, fluttering, beautiful. I told him I liked them, and he told me they were sacred pants. I told him I wanted one, he said okay, we exchanged phone numbers and things didn't move forward. A couple of years later the sequence is repeated at the Iriarte Borda Castle. This time I write to him, buy the fabric and he makes me one. Although the pants were too small for me, the friendship between the two did not.

One day I went to visit Selma at one of her activities at the Melillarte Cultural Center. Melillarte is a kind of social and cultural activation center that brings together some loving neighbors in the Melilla area, around their children and the creation of educational activities that strengthen the ties between them and their understanding of the world. Among them is a biologist, Alejandro, who is dedicated to working on biodiversity. Together, we took a walk along the magical path that connects his house with the Santa Lucía River. It is a narrow path through the forest, which reaches the swamps. During the walk, the topic of conversation was the privets and how they put in check the ceibo trees, at that moment flowering in the distance and in the heights, beyond a broken bridge that we could not cross, and the espinillos. I understood that privets were a problem, I learned to identify them among the other trees and to think about how to kill them.

In January of this year, we went with Elena to spend a few days together in Punta del Este. On the road, we enjoyed the scenery. Observing the beauty of the hills, in the Sierra de las Ánimas area, he showed me the flowering privets and explained the problem to me. As an agricultural engineer, she knows well that it is a difficult problem to stop, especially since no one is doing anything about it. It made me want to do a murderous performance when he told me the way they kill themselves. A hole is made with a drill, and poison is put inside.

Fernando Barrios and Fernando López Laje invite me to an exhibition on interspecies coexistence, and I ask them about the extermination of privets. With resistance and without understanding my proposal or that of the researchers who see them as murderers of the native flora worth fighting, I do the project.

My friend Diego de los Campos suggests that the drill be manual. It has a point there, in relation to gestures, strength and formal purity. I listen to him and start campaigning to get one. My need for love tells me that he, who has known me since we were in first grade, and is the most intelligent artist I know, is going to give me some good advice.

The first person I think of asking for one is my neighbor Yhoan. He lends me his. I also know him because of my need for love. Or maybe the opposite. If I were not a person free from the need for love, I would not be able to fantasize about things like the ones I fantasize about, thanks to which we are friends. The thing is that with all the love in the world he lends me the drill.&#x20;

Selma sets up her house and welcomes Elena and me. Elena sets up the eclectic drill, the poison, drives, carries her drone, and listens attentively. The two of them take photos. We laugh together. Selma and I laugh to the limit at a comment from Elena. Elena takes it with all the love in the world. Rubén, Selma's husband, has all the patience in the world with the three of them.

At home, I check the material and there are things missing. It is urgent to take the photos and, after finishing our business with Adelina, I briefly explain to her what an NFT is, show her previous projects, and she helps me take more photos.

I crop, scale and send the photos to Diego to see if we can make progress. The material has the poor photographic quality that characterizes me. I explain to him that I don’t know whether to continue retouching because I think I’m making things worse… I don’t know the filter options of the image processing program and I would like a filter that would focus and make black black. I go through the options and there’s nothing that seems to work. I feel a toxic pride for the poor quality of the material, which no artificial intelligence could reproduce. It’s similar to Bellatín’s exercise with his analog cameras and his need to stick to his flaws. I defend the poor quality. It’s an unsaleable work to stick up my ass, so I defend the pleasure of putting unskilled labor inside me, which are the hands that don’t get tired, the tired and strong hands of our workers.

Now, I have to return to this, a speakable text. A text that I could say in front of the camera, in a suit and tie, against a black background.

A script for a performance as violent and firm as a drill drilling into the trunk of a tree, or poison being inserted into the trunk until it kills it.

I need to be able to calmly present the urgency of acting with determination on the things that put our biological diversity at stake. I am going to speak in the name of diversity. Without joy or desire, only with determination. Without passion for work and with fear, dressed in a career and as if there were no tomorrow. I know it is impossible, that we are going to lose, but I say it anyway. As if someone could hear me.

My photos have the horror of the old. They lack aestheticism. My body, after the flu, has accumulated fat in parts that are not convenient for desire. The skin loses turgidity, especially around my scar on my belly. The lips of my vulva are barely separated and drooping. They hint at the growth of the clitoris, though they don't show it, and also the almost four dozen uses and the birth. My non-erotic performance is tremendous for its lack of eroticism or sexuality. It's interesting because no one in the world would do something like that. You have to give a damn to be able to take these photos. But I do care about privets. I think that for their sake, I better improve the photos.

I can't imagine what another person might feel when they see my photos. The photos I take to upload to love or fucking apps are different. There is a very clear line that divides the photos in which I act pretty and those in which I don't, and in the artistic photos I don't act pretty. In the symbolic production photos I don't lie. I don't hide my ugliness, nor do I look for my best angle, nor do I try to hide my cellulite, wrinkles or folds. In the artistic photos I am angry, in some way.

It is 7:35 pm on Tuesday, July 23. I am in Remanso de las Sierras, next to the Campanero stream in Minas. By candlelight I hear the crackling of the fire. My daughter tells me that she needs context to understand the project. I sent her an explanation and the text. She does not respond. Ernesto thought the project was well described when I said it was about a lost war. He liked the text. I am still adjusting things, but I was unable to edit the token description, so Elena's last name is still wrong. I ask Diego how to make an article on the platform.

Ce Vignolo

vignoloce\@gmail.com

<https://gateway.fxhash2.xyz/ipfs/QmUxJRh6ZaPE5hKpN1XDqAa1jhv7MccSyiabTUA4XEN6rR/?fxhash=ooKYzyHfUDkKSn28usrnhvYMzypGbCCxxRiEPsYbfR2kLVtMtY4&fxchain=TEZOS&fxiteration=1&fxminter=tz1teFMVWS6o5afaoQRkK4WW72kbA7iyX9Gt>

<https://ladiaria.com.uy/ciencia/articulo/2024/7/asesino-por-naturaleza-el-ligustro-llego-ya-al-134-de-los-bosques-nativos-del-pais-y-continua-su-expansion/?utm_source=newsletter&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=manana>


Although I know that there is no way to stop the advance of the destruction of our biodiversity, especially the riparian flora of our rivers under the suffocating competition of privets, ceibos and espinillos asked me to do something. 

This project is inspired by the biodiversity problems that privets produce in Uruguay. 



Graduated in Communication Sciences, Postgraduate in Artistic Education, produce installations and performances. 

Exhibited internationally. Represented Uruguay in International Biennials (Porto Alegre, St.Etienne, Pontevedra, Quito).


Ce Vignolo

Artist, slow walker, happy bad surfer, cursi generative poet coder,  not so fine sleeper

The extermination of privets and the need to do things destined to fail

Written by

Editions

Share

Details

stay ahead with our newsletter