In this profoundly feminine delicacy where fictional or dreamed genealogical stories intertwine, Nía discovers an intimate world of secret, suggestive traces, veiled beneath the eyelids of time; her work, as she herself defines it, is an attempt to relive the tree of the past, to reconfigure a latent, radiant childhood through photographs and poems revealing an anterior, interior world. Made of the same viscous, organic matter as blood, Nía Diedla's work is offered here like an open wound from which her images, summoning spectres, pour out, Maleza opening and extending with touching branches, holding the murmur of underground rivers from a time we wrongly believed finished.