Dozens of metal springs, a delicate porcelain cup handle, a strangely shaped piece of corrugated iron and an almost undamaged glass bottle — so far the last finds. The hole in the garden is now so deeply dug that the children can barely look over the edge. A discussion ensues about the origin of things and why they found their way into the earth right here. Detached from its original purpose, finds are free for associations and stories about time. In the end, each child drops a personal item into the hole before filling it again.
This story accompanies the viewer into a frenzy of light and reflections, desolations and adhesions in partly deserted places, some barely still in use. The photographs were taken during the last ten years when traveling to places of my origin. Searching for home, you might think, but I’m starting to rearrange the pictures. Something is added, other things are taken, similar to a place, which — left to itself and brought back by nature — is in constant change.
I imagine how, in the distant future, somebody will find something between bushes and begin to ponder what benefit that object might have once had for civilization.