About

We planted an idea

For a million reasons, one of the most pressing desires, as soon as we moved to the countryside, to an area dominated by vineyards, was to have plane trees. They are leafy, verdant. Generous and vain in the summer, with its refreshing shade canopy. Humble and discreet in winter, when they do without ornaments. Well, they arrived. They were just three thin shafts raised to the sky Fine and delicate, they barely let anyone guess what would come from there. We let them grow wild and savage – there's no better way to be a tree – and they surprised us every day. Always more amazing and leafy.

It grew up

In a few years, they were superb trees, shelter for passing birds, since the resident ones know well that plane trees are not to be trusted in the cold weather, when they strip off their vanities and limit themselves to the zero degree of the trees world: only root, trunk and branches. It took us a while to understand, because we were happier pretending not to see, that our plane trees loomed large in the air, scratching the skies and causing fears in stormy weather, when they resembled reckless sails in the wind.

It became gigantic

We pretended to believe that nothing would bring them down, as we could no longer imagine ourselves without them, and they took advantage of our 'distraction' to rise higher and higher. So much so, that its roots, strong as waves, began to carry everything they found in the way. The signs were clear and, one day, which we postponed beyond what was desired, the decision was taken. We had to cut our plane trees.

It challenged us

Our plane trees were so tall that it took courage and acrobatics and a gardener with a mountaineer's soul. Harness, heavy machinery and… we said goodbye to our most leafy trees. One by one. We were asked then if we wanted to keep the wood. That it was good for the fireplace, we were told. Which was always a way to keep them a little longer. We kept them, of course. Cut and stacked, like pieces of a puzzle in a box, with the enormous difference that we knew by heart what image would result if it were possible to reassemble them and the certainty that this was now an impossibility.

The start of the challenge

Each log and branch was stacked with ingenuity and grace in the place destined for firewood, its most likely destination. A gigantic cube with crossed trunks and an impressive calibration of sizes and shapes. We never had the real courage to use our plane trees to keep warm in winter, no matter how noble we thought this last gesture of attention was. One day, when looking at that wooden installation, an authentic work of art, a magnificent idea occurred to us – or should we say: it lit up in us. What if after the shadow came the light? What if each trunk, magnificent outline of Nature, was now a vehicle of light? What if we managed – far beyond our memory, where they will be eternal – that our trees would never die? What if we turned them into something else? What if from each trunk we made a lamp? A sculptural piece that would show the beauty and nobility of our plane trees? A purpose of undeniable poetics, which soon took root. Well, here they are, our lamps. A kind of celebration of wood. Almost recycling a memory.

Because our trees don't die. They reinvent themselves.