As children, we used to enter the water tower, in the mid-nineties, through a ground-floor window, too small for an adult to squeeze through. By then it had long been closed, full of neglected remains and abandoned objects. With great effort, we managed to pull the heavy metal ladder and straighten it up to the glazed top, then arranged boards on the round ledge, to make a small platform on which we spent a long time. Inside, we found a radiator, hung it on a wire, to swing. We had this game – a stupid, childish mischief, we climbed some tall buildings in the neighborhood (including the water tower) and threw various objects, watched them fall and hit the ground. Ice, glass, tires, clothes, whatever we found. Thinking about this memory, I find something valuable that children always do in their games in a natural – spontaneous way – testing – feeling reality. Something I keep finding in art – a transport of the senses, a deeper awareness of the perceived. I recall these childhood games and mischiefs with a desire to carefully “improve” these memories, to make them what I want them to be now, which I think happens with all memories anyway, when someone recalls them, but more unconsciously than intentionally. Transformed through my present experience and the accumulated thoughts and obsessions. I follow the fall of my small collection of objects, actually lasting less than two seconds. Playful, but also quite serious. An exhibition as much site-specific as it is life-specific.

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