Rafael Ortega

64 Coldstream guards walk separately in London entering through different streets and unaware of one another’s route. Upon meeting, they fall into step and match together, looking or more guards to join up with.

Each person’s action affects everybody. This fine principle of teamwork applies even when individuals are pulling in different directions. Trying both to reach the chocolate box in one’s nearest corner and to stop the others reaching theirs, resistance becomes momentum and then desperate resistance again. Progress is most effective backwards. The square of rope comes alive, morphing into a diamond, a triangle, a trapeze, as the advantage shifts with every second. It’s when you’re nearly there that you’re most vulnerable, losing impetus, to grab the prize or be dragged back. The balance of forces is always broken in the end.

A piñata is a papier-mâché figure stuffed with sweets. Common at birthdays in urban patios, here we find it in a field, where a garish Superman dangles between tall poles on a rope jerked by an adult, to make hitting harder. Each player is blindfolded and spun around several times before attempting to hit the piñata with a long stick. The kids’ wild swinging is directed by the shouts of friends, while the allotted time of each turn is counted down in a singsong about finding and losing one’s way. Fierce blows are dealt with varying accuracy until the piñata is fully smashed open and its sweets shower to the ground, leaped on by all the kids at once. The hollow, punctured figure is triumphantly dismembered.

64 Coldstream guards walk separately in London entering through different streets and unaware of one another’s route. Upon meeting, they fall into step and match together, looking or more guards to join up with.

Each person’s action affects everybody. This fine principle of teamwork applies even when individuals are pulling in different directions. Trying both to reach the chocolate box in one’s nearest corner and to stop the others reaching theirs, resistance becomes momentum and then desperate resistance again. Progress is most effective backwards. The square of rope comes alive, morphing into a diamond, a triangle, a trapeze, as the advantage shifts with every second. It’s when you’re nearly there that you’re most vulnerable, losing impetus, to grab the prize or be dragged back. The balance of forces is always broken in the end.

A piñata is a papier-mâché figure stuffed with sweets. Common at birthdays in urban patios, here we find it in a field, where a garish Superman dangles between tall poles on a rope jerked by an adult, to make hitting harder. Each player is blindfolded and spun around several times before attempting to hit the piñata with a long stick. The kids’ wild swinging is directed by the shouts of friends, while the allotted time of each turn is counted down in a singsong about finding and losing one’s way. Fierce blows are dealt with varying accuracy until the piñata is fully smashed open and its sweets shower to the ground, leaped on by all the kids at once. The hollow, punctured figure is triumphantly dismembered.