Project carried out in the context of the Epecuén residency during April-May 2019 in Villa Lago Epecuén (Province of Buenos Aires, Argentina),
a tourist town that was flooded in 1985 and remained submerged under salt lagoons for 20 years.
It was later exhibited at Ambos Mundos Gallery (Buenos Aires, Argentina).
I. I looked up the definition of “Ruin” in the dictionary. Ruin, the action of falling or destroying something; destruction, downfall, decadence, decay; great loss of the goods of fortune (RAE, 2019). I am mainly interested in the latter; we get ruined, we lose our fortune, our goods, our wealth.
Salt, the only rock regarded as edible by human beings. Our tongue has specific regions just to identify and perceive its flavor. It was once a symbol of economic power, which was for a long time precious and scarce. It has extraordinary properties for the conservation of organic matter and also therapeutic potentialities.
We get ruined, we lose our goods.
II. Tears have a high percentage of salt. Our bodies have a high percentage of salt. There are three types of tears, the function of the third ones on the list is still incomprehensible, but there are theories, as in everything. Our eyes imperceptibly cry all day long to keep hydrated, they also cry occasionally in the face of allergic threats, to protect us.
But with the third type of tears, our eyes cry but we forget it is the eyes that cry. They overflow. The whole body cries. Water, salt, breath, eyelids, and even our backs escape from us; to seek empathy, to give out signs, to make catharsis or who knows what for. This comes to me as the impracticality of some inevitable acts that we seek to justify as much as we can. We feel bad and cry, but after a few hours we feel better. Sometimes better than before we cried.
We cry, we lose our salt.
III. I dreamt of a flood. I had this dream while traveling on a bus. The water inundated everything; the walls, the corners, the thoughts. Tambourine bricks immersed in an unstoppable, holographic flow. It was beautiful.
I woke up and mumbled: “we survive”, in a sleepy inertia. This was two days ago and I keep thinking that beauty can be terrible, ruins can be strangely reassuring, and surviving, inevitably, a sigh of water. We survive the years, the wind, the sun, our tears, the uncomfortable silences, the blows, the changes, and the space between inhalation and exhalation. We survive even when we are dead, sometimes in the stories and salts of others.
We survive, we flood.