A slimy, glistening image zooms in and out at levels that would be impossible for the human eye to capture. Later we will perceive that this rugged violet field corresponds to the approach of the bodies that we will find in our path. The bodies of some images that have changed shape, showing and altering a text: the digital code has become physical, thus has generated a mountain of papers that have become a thick conglomerate full of nuances and disjointed characters. Some scattered ponds contain and condense infinite variable alterations, lexical fragments that make us move between the natural and the artificial: patterns of flower petals that are repeated, phantasmagoria in dried orchids and in sugar-frosted violets, corncobs and a bunch of tangles that are nothing more than bugs that come from machines that create objects. A writing climbs like a garden through an ancient architectural ornament keeping its shape, and a small forest of corncobs grow through the artifice of its own tissue.
According to Ship of Theseus's legend, the ship in which he returned from Crete to Athens, was altered and modified by changing practically all its parts. They wondered then if, even if they replace all its parts for others, this would still be the same ship. Cristina Spinelli suggests a journey where codes are altered, where forms change, where objects replace their skin, shape, and appearance; where artificiality and naturalness, physicality and materiality are separated by a fine line at the expense of our perception. We cannot help it wonder if the corncob is still corncob, even though it was made by a 3D printer; or if the flowers are still flowers, even if they are dead, or made of resin, stone or caramel; or if the bodies still have something of images even though we can no longer see them.