In Annecy, the landscape is beautiful, yet homogeneous. I always wondered why. It intrigued me that, despite being a city rising in the heart of the Alps, its vegetation was not more diverse. Then I understood the true diversity lay in the heights of the mountains, where the pruning machines could not reach. Annecy pays homage to the formal landscape gardening of the mid-19th century, where a rigorously naturalistic yet structured approach was pursued. Over time, this so-called "naturalistic" vision faded, giving way to carefully curated parks meant to accompany the development of industrial cities. It was then that the idea took hold: gardens and public spaces had to be orderly, aesthetically safe, and devoid of any sign of disorder, conveying the illusion of absolute control. Thus, the practice of pruning, organizing, and eliminating plants that did not conform to a controlled design was born.
In keeping with this philosophy of tamed gardens, the Annecy city hall conducts frequent cuttings to regulate the spread of species like the Carotte Sauvage, which grows abundantly across the land. Its presence makes certain spaces appear "unkempt," as if overtaken by an undesirable weed, an unacceptable sight in a city as touristic as Annecy. The problem is that these aesthetics-driven practices harm biodiversity and sever our connection to natural ecosystems. Ironically, by cutting it down, they only stimulate its growth, preventing other species from taking root. To truly experience the richness of Haute-Savoie, one must leave the city and venture into the mountains, where the region’s floral tapestry unfolds. The more we prune, the more a single species proliferates, at the cost of diversity.
Near my home, there was a vast plot of land overtaken by Carotte Sauvage. It had remained untouched for a long time, and slowly, wildflowers that were usually absent (due to constant trimming) had begun to appear. Pollinators were abundant, and an organic balance was beginning to emerge in this unaltered garden. One day, returning from the lake, I came across municipal workers who had just razed the entire field. This delicate dance of equilibrium had been severed to make way for a freshly sown lawn where tourists could sit and picnic. The land was being prepared for summer, a season of immense economic importance in Annecy. That was when I decided to gather all the plants that had not been completely destroyed and attempt to reconstruct that Carotte Sauvage garden, for memory’s sake. This piece is an homage to a massacre, a reminder that in Annecy, Carotte Sauvage thrives as a weed precisely because they never stop cutting it."The Massacre of the Carotte Sauvage" is a memory, a historical moment, a reminder that we are prioritizing a way of life that, in the long run, will not be sustainable.
I approached this work as follows: I collected the few remaining plants that had not yet been swept into bags and thrown into the truck. I separated them, pressed them, and dehydrated them all, without exception. My goal was for every pressed and dried plant to become part of this garden, whether aesthetically pleasing after the pressing process or not, and to ensure that the waste of the work was also displayed. This led to the final piece: a ball of debris resting on a tree trunk found in a forest in Mexico, where I recently moved. All the elements are displayed on linen, and I chose to keep every cut of fabric and every stray thread as part of the composition. I chose linen because it, too, is a plant whose flowers, roots, and leaves are discarded in the process of making fabric. And when the fabric presents imperfections, it is thrown away. Thus, this garden has been built with no waste. This work also includes the imperfect scraps of a discarded fabric roll, honoring what was meant to be lost.
Title of the work: The massacre of the Carotte Sauvage
Work composed of: 54 pieces
Technique: Pressed and dehydrated flowers and threads on linen
Dimensions: Ranges from 3 x 5 to 70 x 120 centimeters
Location: Annecy, France
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