“We all carry a dead child within us.“ Christian Boldtanski quotes Tadeusz Kantor
An abandoned house*. The rooms bear witness to the fact that people once lived here. Reality and fiction, present and past merge here. We wander through the rooms like in a nightmare and are repeatedly confronted with an old class photo. On the back of the real-life photo is written: “Class of 1911”. Who were these people? Does anyone still remember them? I lend them my eyes and bring them back to life post mortem. An artificial liveliness.
I (Erika) sit in the middle of these children as a link between yesterday and today and think aloud about the fear of disappearing.
