Taxonomy comes from the Greek words taxis (order, classification) and nomos (norm, law). In its strictest sense, it is a branch of the natural sciences that deals with establishing the principles for classifying living beings—plants and animals—according to a hierarchical system. The logical principle behind taxonomic norms is the order of generality. More generally, taxonomy can be understood as the ordered and hierarchical classification of elements. It is a discipline that strives to homogenize, standardize, and avoid disorganization as much as possible.

It arises from the human need to exercise control and domination over nature—a branch of science that is part of a broader system of classification and categorization that reduces the diversity and complexity of the natural world into simplified and standardized categories.

The modern conception of society, in which domination plays a central role, finds in science one of its fundamental pillars. Science is deeply tied to the instrumental management of nature and of social and economic resources, where it becomes essential to first "scientifically" (through reason) understand the natural and social reality upon which action is to be taken. Classification and categorization become necessary tools to control and dominate nature and society.

This tendency to classify and categorize everything—from cultural products to human beings—contributes to alienation and the loss of individuality in contemporary society. It has led to a homogenization and standardization of culture and thought, which characterize our era. The inclination to simplify and reduce reality into fixed categories and classifications has resulted in a reductionist understanding of the world, and in the loss of appreciation for its complexity and diversity.

As part of the colonial and extractivist activities in which European powers were engaged, scientists and explorers such as Alexander von Humboldt and José Celestino Mutis carried out scientific expeditions to multiple latitudes of the Global South, with the goal of understanding nature—especially in Latin America. It is estimated that Humboldt collected and shipped over 60,000 plant and animal specimens to Europe during his exploration between 1799 and 1804. Mutis sent more than 20,000 specimens to Europe during the Royal Botanical Expedition. These included plants, animals, minerals, fossils, and other natural objects gathered from various regions of the Viceroyalty of New Granada explored by Mutis and his team.

Each specimen was collected using methods appropriate to the type of organism. For plants, entire specimens were gathered—roots, leaves, flowers, and fruits—while for animals, traps, nets, or specific capture techniques were used. Captured animals were sacrificed and prepared as study specimens. Each was labeled with relevant information: date and place of collection, geographic coordinates, habitat, and other pertinent observations. This information was essential for later analysis and taxonomic classification. Plants were pressed and dried for preservation; animals were stored in chemical solutions or mounted for exhibition and study. During the expedition, specimens were stored in conditions that allowed for their conservation, such as sealed containers to avoid humidity and physical damage.

Using the same European roots from which the word taxonomy derives, the Greek root ataxia means “without order,” and kosmos originally referred to the totality of existence. Ataxia Kosmos is an ongoing installation project of collecting subjects (not specimens) through an anti-taxonomic lens. It establishes no hierarchies, has no labels or conventional technical sheets, and follows no standardized collection protocols.

Through this installation, I aim to propose a non-hierarchical perspective, with a non-linear narrative that brings together different subjects (or elements) that engage in complex and multidimensional relationships. Each component contributes its own story, textures, and meaning, and by merging with others, creates a network of unique connections and relations. The dialogue between pieces is dynamic and constantly evolving. Like a conversation among people, the pieces interact, influence each other, and generate new ideas and perspectives.

For collecting these subjects, I appropriate the Situationist practice of drift (dérive), wandering through the places I inhabit and adopting the role of flâneur. These are explorations—urban, rural, and natural—without a fixed direction, guided by impulse and allowing the surroundings to shape the path. During the drift, I abandon any preconceived plan and surrender to sensations, experiences, and encounters that arise along the way. Through this, I seek to subvert traditional knowledge structures based on rationalization, fostering a more authentic and creative experience of space and territory. I reject the urgency and speed that aim to erase the journey between point A and point B by focusing instead on the act of wandering. These drifts are situated within the Global South—territories colonized, exploited, and discarded.

The acquisition of these subjects occurs randomly, spontaneously, and intuitively throughout my walks. What at first appears to be organic waste is taken into the installation, thereby resignifying discarded natural materials and imbuing them with a shared story. Not all objects carry the same historical value.

These collections are photographed and later placed in open concrete boxes measuring 12 x 12 x 12 cm. In our imaginary, concrete is a reflection of how we conceive construction: it is the trace of human civilization on the planet, a symbol of how we have sought to confine nature.

Even though I am not on an expedition aimed at sampling, during my life’s journeys I remain attentive to my surroundings. In the process of searching, reflecting, contemplating, and exploring multiple perspectives, one can find meaning and build connections—enriching the dialogue between the pieces—always keeping in mind the question: What is worth telling about our life on this planet?

Leaves picked from the ground beneath a tree of the Cryptomeria japonica family—a conifer not native to the region, brought after the invasion of the Americas. A dried cactus stem from plantations in southern Antioquia, where they are being replaced by Hass avocado crops for export. Leaves of the iraca palm, traditionally used to make Colombian hats, baskets, and other objects, now replaced by synthetic products from China. A piece of fossilized wood turned to stone, gathered from a quarry where rock is extracted for construction. These are some of the subjects collected, which gradually form stories, connections, and ties as they relate to one another. They are fragments of a forgotten landscape to which I try to give a new narrative as I bring them together—a new landscape to be built.

In doing so, I express the urgency of rethinking our paradigms of inhabiting and consuming. I call for a recognition of ourselves as co-inhabitants of a world made up of many beings beyond the human—an invitation to shift our understanding of what it means to be human on a living planet, and to co-inhabit a world where diversity is the rule and homogeneity the exception.