“In the Catholic church there are three classes of relics. The first class is body parts of a saint. The second class is things that belonged to a saint, objects they have used and surrounded themselves with. The third class relic is the object that touched the body of a saint. To create the third class relics, the small holes are drilled in the tombs of saints. The objects are lowered through the holes and once they touch the corpse they are no longer everyday and mundane – they now become sacred.”

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Meteorites, boulders, rocks, stones A child-like obsession that began innocently, fuelled with curiosity: What stories does a rock whisper?

Ancient mythology is filled with cautionary tales where young, eloquent females were punished for their outspokenness and turned into rocks. A curse of Medusa meant that she transformed anyone she looked at into a rock: mute, passive, motionless and unable to express. Some rocks were believed to be gods, chained to the ground in case they decided to make a return to heavens; celebrated, feared. Some took on central roles in the communities becoming places of worship, grief, sacrifice.

For over two years I have been collecting rock stories. Many of them belong to folk people, such as my ancestors: collectively woven myths that gave ground to caring rituals of relating to space, the land, to one another. Over time these stories fluctuate, gently passed for generations. The longer I give in to my obsession, the more I begin to believe that a rock is not mute at all, but perhaps, the most excellent storyteller of them all.

“I saw a tree bearing stones in the place of apples and pears” is an exploration of a rock as a carrier of stories, a migratory body, a silent, mysterious visitor, filled with projections, dreams and fears. It is an investigation of the myths, stories and rituals and an act of reclaiming them back.