Flowers, yes, but not the likeness of any real flower: rather, flowery exaggerations, bouts of pure flowerness, overgrowths of shape and color, algorithmic fever dreams, delirium blooms.

Flowers, then, not as parts of plants, but as explosions of feeling. A turmoil of mixed emotions: something to do with life and happiness, to be sure, but also with madness and perhaps with death.

Flowers not as placid representations of nature, but as artificial life forms from an era of machine hallucinations, information overflow and a degrading environment. Flowers for a time of inflamed passions and strangely distorted ideas of reality. Flowers for Argentina, flowers for the world.

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