Project K
Every door an entrance. One entrance and one exit. Door leading to a living room, a kitchen, a bedroom, a toilet, a balcony. Every room a story. The past and present gather in the center of each room. And you remember. The fingers on the table, the fresh bread in the tablecloth frame, the steamed coffee in the porcelain cup. The stained sheets still smell affection, protection, safety. Behind closed doors, windows open and dust glides on the wood levels, accumulates, becomes a hill in vinyl, in books, in stale flowers that bore more than the fake ones. Eyes cut by the blades of time remain there to hover around the four walls even if they are gone. The eyes of those who stayed here.
I forget there was a life once, but a glance at the framed photos, the skinned shutters, the upside armchairs, they challenge me to remember those times, the childish, the innocent, that I still dreamed of. And then papers. Other yellowed, other white still, other torn, other damp. Papers full of bruised words. More papers, books, notebooks, magazines, calendars, notes, scattered in the corners, stowed in the center of the living room, all the things they didn't take. Scripta manent.
When unfamiliar faces came into this house, they didn't just steal material stuff, they didn't just mixed armchairs, tables, beds. They stole a piece of family history. They stole memories.
In a perpetual labyrinth of bureaucracy I struggled to bring balance to the past and the present. But saw turned backs, heads bowed, writing, nodding and their only words were “more papers, we need those documents, the other evidence and bring us and bring us and bring us”. And the only thing I felt every time, was a burden beating me up, like one of the doors of the house was falling on me.
Doors that close with force, doors that open slowly at dawn, locks that are violated, doors that never open, doors that never close. Doors that conceal and doors that reveal. Open your eyes and close the door behind you.
* To close a door you must first open it.
Curated by: Yorgos Karailias, Yorgos Prinos
