“One of the most common stories that were told to children who asked how they were born, is that of cauliflower. Always a symbol of fertility and life, it was harvested nine months after sowing, or from March to September, just like the gestation time of babies. The planting and harvesting of cabbages were entrusted to women who were called midwives, just like those who helped the future mother during childbirth, because the peasants had the task of cutting the "umbilical cord" that tied the cauliflower to the earth.”
In "I was born under a cauliflower" I speak through the images of a world that I do not know, which is so close to ours and yet still imperceptibly far away.
I invent parallel realities for a creature that is still unknown to us, I try to untie myself from the stereotype of pregnancy as a moment of fusion between a woman and the creature she carries in her womb, embracing the feeling of strangeness that this event can provoke, and I try to describe this condition as a game between myself and the women I portray, in which even labor pains can resemble the frenetic rhythm of a free and tribal dance.
