In the middle of a snow-covered landscape stands an apple tree. The shot remains almost still, showing the tree whose crown, despite the snowfall, is heavy with red apples. The blue sky contrasts with the white blanket of snow. It is a sunny day.
The apple is one of those ancient symbols worn thin by centuries of cultural repetition. Fertility. The apple tree as a metaphor for a woman—bearing fruit, giving life, or withered and old, bringing neither blossoms nor beauty. The biblical story of the apple is the story of Eve, blamed for the expulsion of humankind from paradise, for the eternal staining of humanity with original sin. Or rather, that is how the tale of creation was mutated under the direction of the Catholic Church.
Patriarchal desire to rule the world, the privilege of some over others who are expected to remain indebted, and the greed concealed behind what is often presented as the spreading of good. New translations of the Bible reveal flawed interpretations of the original texts. For example, Eve was not made from Adam’s rib but as the other half of the first human being. It seems more than suspicious that for centuries, biblical teachings made the world more comfortable for wealthy white ruling men—especially given that they were the ones who decided how the scriptures were to be interpreted, and which parts were to be erased from history. And all this at a time when most of the population could neither read nor write, and rebellion often came at the cost of life itself.
Rosy cheeks like two little apples. Youthfulness, blood flow, health, attractiveness, modesty, shame, guilt, sin. The apple, no matter how gentle, beautiful, or tempting it may appear, is plucked from the mother tree by an anonymous hand and, once inspected, carelessly tossed aside. Instead of resting in the clean white snow, it falls into a small puddle of dark mud that seems to have appeared precisely for this moment. Was it chance, misfortune, luck? Perhaps magic. Perhaps reality. Or maybe just an ordinary day.