In this project, we create a setting for everyone to relax and feel comfortable. Both psychiatric patients and people from the outside are invited.
You can bite a free dessert, you can watch a film, you can draw.
Come. Make a step forward. Make a step towards other.
I lead him into the unknown. We nervously unpack our kits and hold tight on tools of patches and lines. I don’t dare to look up from my book, even though a palette of unknown textures and colour tints lay in the front of me. People are giggling on Chaplin’s stumble. Moustaches and hats appear on the papers. I try to catch a glimpse of characters.
It’s sunny. I pass the lush green garden. Some roses stuck up their heads. Skulls, young and b-old nod, and a choir of greetings splinters away on the bricks. Another cigarette blows smoke on the slice of a story. Sweet cakes and several languages melt on our tongs. My cold hands touch warm and smooth skins.They all have soft palms and their socks hug their ankles tight. My sweater hangs ’til my knees. I wonder if i should take the colourful cup. But my co ee ends up in a stackable white porcelain. Three drops miss their direction. They form patterns and couldll in the stripes i drew on the plate from the rest of the choc- olate cake. Poetry hangs in the air.
The scenery changed.The ceiling stretched up high and the windows multiplied. They are with 18, in fact, plus the unpredictable amount of them, re ecting each other on the long days of being a glass surface. Light over ows the room. One notices the low contrast of the projec- tion. We are pinned to the screen. The greys of the darkest spots cover up the monsters within. We take pencils. Maps become neurons, and resemble the window frames.We all enter the temple of the mind,won- dering on the rounded corridors. This building doesn’t has eyes, but it’s all watching.
--- Fru Pinter