Antonia Baehr

Damien, a convivial and spineless reporter, wants to write a biography of the famous spiritual leader Father Pierre; not really a subject that gets your blood flowing. A few ominous omens try to avert him from his decision, like a bloodstain on the floor or his tongue turning black, but Damien pays little attention. He arranges a sojourn at one of Father Pierre’s centers. When he arrives, he’s greeted by the three employees of the center, a trinity as silent as disturbing who slurp from their soup as voraciously as Hannibal Lecter from a dish of lamb brains. Just like Alice In Wonderland, our reporter finds himself in a surreal universe. Every door he opens, will confront him with his own demons : his cowardice, his incapacity to decide anything and his continuous flight from responsibility.

There is a storage room in the depot where things that are not exhibited or have been discarded are piled up. It is a cluttered archive of reticent and hidden remains interwoven with our voices. These voices are our real and imitated children’s voices that continue to haunt our bodies. We visit the ghosts of that which has been sorted out, deposited, and marginalized and take them with us into the future.

There is a storage room in the depot where things that are not exhibited or have been discarded are piled up. It is a cluttered archive of reticent and hidden remains interwoven with our voices. These voices are our real and imitated children’s voices that continue to haunt our bodies. We visit the ghosts of that which has been sorted out, deposited, and marginalized and take them with us into the future.