The various states of the stumps photographed say very crudely, in a rather expressionist way, the violent relationship that men have with nature. They cut the trees to use the wood, to prevent a danger of falling in parks and streets, or to appropriate the space where they had settled and lived for many years. Each of these stumps is captured in a specific time of its becoming, it addresses us its silent cry. Here stood a tree, here lies the stump. A circumstantial metaphorical meaning can also appear, we have become stumps in this time of pandemic, the world has been partly taken away from us, the others, the elsewhere, and we are left with the base in a well circumscribed and limited here in which we must survive, and act, and produce new forms. Sessile beings that must imperatively deal with it if they want to continue to live.