Pieter Solta

Miles, a particularly playful spirit, lures his friend Solta on a journey from Berlin to Friuli, Picardy and Venice, through his life, through the minefields of identity politics, and through the black hole of our oblivion as to what the world could be. Ultimately, he returns to Ireland, the land of his childhood, where he played marbles during the raw identity war of the troubles. Solta tries to track him down, to figure him out, to picture him. Miles, however, marbles in his pockets, infinity in his fingers, constantly eludes him.

Miles, a particularly playful spirit, lures his friend Solta on a journey from Berlin to Friuli, Picardy and Venice, through his life, through the minefields of identity politics, and through the black hole of our oblivion as to what the world could be. Ultimately, he returns to Ireland, the land of his childhood, where he played marbles during the raw identity war of the troubles. Solta tries to track him down, to figure him out, to picture him. Miles, however, marbles in his pockets, infinity in his fingers, constantly eludes him.

Miles, a particularly playful spirit, lures his friend Solta on a journey from Berlin to Friuli, Picardy and Venice, through his life, through the minefields of identity politics, and through the black hole of our oblivion as to what the world could be. Ultimately, he returns to Ireland, the land of his childhood, where he played marbles during the raw identity war of the troubles. Solta tries to track him down, to figure him out, to picture him. Miles, however, marbles in his pockets, infinity in his fingers, constantly eludes him.

Miles, a particularly playful spirit, lures his friend Solta on a journey from Berlin to Friuli, Picardy and Venice, through his life, through the minefields of identity politics, and through the black hole of our oblivion as to what the world could be. Ultimately, he returns to Ireland, the land of his childhood, where he played marbles during the raw identity war of the troubles. Solta tries to track him down, to figure him out, to picture him. Miles, however, marbles in his pockets, infinity in his fingers, constantly eludes him.