Human Hair

Dear Hair,
I produce you, and you belong to me.
You were born already dead, but at the moment that I get cut, dear hair, you experience the first exchange of meaning. You no longer will signify something about my gender, my beliefs, my social status, and my health. You are a piece of my body that is no longer in my hands. A memory of what I was. A treasure. A lot of times a waste.
I would like to thank all my friends that gave me a part of their identity. Now they are together in tapestry, connected by textile and by time.
I also stole. Lines that I took from unknown stories. We will never meet again and we never met. But I have it, all of you suppressed in tapestry and crushed by textile.
I`ve weaved you, with my own tools.
I`ve collected a library.
I`ve created my mask, our mask. My portrait. Our portrait of society.
With love,
Mariana

Last summer I discovered the mystery of oak apples. An oak apple develops when female gall wasps lay their eggs in developing leaf buds. The bud deforms to create a structure that protects the larvae until they metamorph. When this happens they get out of the oak apple, leaving their nest on the tree, which sometimes gets occupied by other species.
We've cut our shelter as well, and it remains in nature decomposing.
Where did the precious insect go? And who were they?
The power is in the people that produce the hair, the hair is just a genetic key to its person.
The hair is an oak-apple, we are the gall wasps. If I can see my shelter from the outside, it means that I am not a larva anymore.
In the future, we will lay our eggs in other new oak trees.