mandag, september 11, 2006
Nothing's left after the war: no houses, no road, no shops, no laughs, no cafes, no pidgeons, no houswives at shopping, no roadworkers, no unemployed on the bench, no bikes, no cars -
- and yet. Here, in the middle of nowhere, is a boy, transparent, sitting with a red ball. Will he give up, go home - if he has a home? Or will he try to play with his ball? As long as the children play, there is hope for a future.
(The ruins are from Berlin 1945 after WW2, I've drawed the boy.)