Autotranslations, death and wild horses

DeepL and Google Translate are two of the best-known tools for automatic text translation, both of which can be integrated into websites. ChatGPT is another option that can be used not only to translate but also to correct and refine text.

I’ve experimented with all three systems and recently had to decide which to use for Plenna (currently accessible at www.plenna.life). The organization has recently begun working with Estúdio Teca, a Brazilian firm scheduled to deliver the new website and database by August.

In short, we’ve chosen to use DeepL on the site, opting to pay a modest fee (in contrast to the free Google Translate) in exchange for a slight increase in quality. This matters, as Plenna deals with delicate and emotionally charged topics, which require the most refined language possible.

That said, even the best automated translations can lack flow, consistency, and nuance. That’s why Plenna is working to develop validated versions of its materials with the help of native speakers—ideally people engaged in the fields of end-of-life planning or death education. I’m very grateful to the volunteers who have contributed so far, and I am particularly eager to connect with Arabic and German native speakers (see this flyer for more details).

So, why the (unfinished) painting of wild horses? Last weekend, I visited the Château of the 19th-century French artist Rosa Bonheur. As you’ll see if you go, she was not only an exceptionally gifted painter of animals but also a pioneering woman who challenged and defied many gender-based restrictions of her time (she famously required a special permit, renewed every six months, to wear trousers for her work and visits to abattoirs).  If you're near Fontainebleau, just south of Paris, I highly recommend visiting—there’s also a charming tea room with a delicious brunch.

I was particularly struck by Les chevaux sauvages fuyant l’incendie ("Wild Horses Fleeing the Fire"), left unfinished at Bonheur’s death in 1899 which has centre stage in her workshop. The painting’s mixture of half-sketched and completed forms, and its dramatic composition, speak volumes about movement, transformation, and the unseen forces driving us forward. For me, it is a metaphor not only for language and creation, but for life itself—where beauty and incompletion often coexist.

In many ways, the journey of building Plenna mirrors this painting—unfinished, dynamic, and driven by purpose.  As we translate our ideas across languages, cultures, and technologies, we remain aware of the deeper fire: the urgent need to challenge certain taboos and stigma that might hold us back, in order to support ourselves and others in planning for the end of life and death with dignity, clarity, and care.