Léa Muller
Artiste, forestière et paysagiste.
In a plastic bag, an acorn in sand. The acorn has no dormancy: if it dries out, it won't germinate. A sessile oak acorn, a sessile oak acorn from a tree four hundred and eighty-six years old with a circumference of six meters and fifty centimeters. An acorn from the Breslon oak that nobody gives a damn about, just as they don't give a damn about anything else, just as they don't give a damn about the pierced vault. A remarkable acorn, remarkable for plugging holes. The hole-plugger is a remedy object, an unfortunate remedy against universal negligence. It brings together a community of hole-pluggers who, with the same gesture, plug holes and work for the collaborative lineage of a giant. They keep their acorn outside, to the north. As soon as possible, and with the utmost delicacy, they remove the acorn from its plastic and place it between the two shells of the hole-plugger, which they fill with the remaining sand. They choose a pierced vault to plug and plant the acorn there, armed with its new exoskeleton. Just above, a thorny branch sinks in. They come back to it.