grains of rice manually packed in plastic, aiming one kilogram
I’m transparent and light, seemingly delicate but practically immortal. Like everything, I need space and time. Time to create me, time of my control over another object, then a short — but how significant — time of unpacking, moment in which my role comes to an end so I become trash in order to release what’s inside: a grain of rice. Finally, the time I’ll spend on disappearing, the longest one.
That is my nature if only something created by humans can bedescribed by the word nature. In the end, all this country is created by humans: the ground which they dried, the forests which they planted, the cities floating on the sea they built are all evidence of their power, or maybe their fear — without a doubt, their need of being in charge.
What is a little piece of plastic compared to all that? I exist only because of their admiration for rules and perfection. I am rational, modern and clean, I stand in opposition to natural goods and, therefore, become a perfect material of human domination over the rest of the species — a tool of control. A simple act of separation (packing), changes the status of grain from being natural to be cultural, as it becomes subordinate, orderly. I am a product of obsession: a very rational approach, when pushed to its limits, exposes an inherent deficiency of this system quickly becoming an irrational trap, a dystopian, Orwellian scenario. It is interesting to experience the moment in which functional objects become junk — the whole idea of power crushes leaving ridiculous leftovers of their pride in no more than a few seconds.