Boxes, boxes stacked on top of one another. They form a wall, a shelter, a form of protection against the outside world. Thin, short legs protrude from the opening; each foot gnaws on the other, like creatures in their own right.
Alone, alone among others. The shelter houses a resounding silence. Like a monument to memory and time; partly through what it is made up of – the box which stores and preserves; which holds and surrounds – but also through what the shelter itself stands for – a means of protection or a weapon, a place for daydreams and imagination. The memory of the world of our childhood gradually becomes a reflection upon it.