This work was born from an intimate reflection when I turned 40.

I began to experience a tsunami of situations and sensations around my body. Suddenly, I lost my menstruation. I didn’t really understand what was happening. The possibility of a pregnancy crossed my mind, and with it came the need for an abortion, while it could also be an early menopause. This emotional journey led me to reflect on themes I had never experienced before. I became more empathetic in my gaze, and more aware of the importance of recognizing ourselves and speaking about what happens to us. From that moment on, I began to see vaginas in trees.

One day, while walking through a park, I observed a weeping willow. In the folds of its trunk, different forms of vaginas began to appear: one that seemed to be giving birth, another torn by a natural delivery, another sutured. Different from one another, unique in shape and color. From then on, I could not stop seeing them. Every tree I encounter seems to hold a secret cavity, a strange yet familiar opening that inevitably refers to the female body. The textures, cracks, and wounds of the tree transformed, for me, into a sensitive mirror of our own anatomy.

I have not seen so many vaginas in my life; however, once my cousin, a gynecologist and obstetrician, showed me what vaginas look like after childbirth, and that image never left my mind.

Now, every time I look at a tree, I smile in silence. I think that our vaginas are eternal; that within them memory, desire, and life coexist. And that even with the passage of time and the transformation of the body, they continue to be a territory of pleasure, resistance, and permanence.