A large station, a sorting place, an important hub in the city. People coming and people going, relentlessly…an obsessive carousel without sun. There, figures of citizens in a hurry evolve, all well mannered, all knowing the required routes, not stumbling, not stepping out of line. What pushes and pulls them is an indefinite and punctual machine, then slowly fog seems to cover them, it seems to absorb them, to soften and deny their contours, within a cocoon-like, opaque unconsciousness that does not stop them, which keeps pushing them forward, and forward… towards a land where nothing seems to matter, in the limbo of a present without history, without conflicts, without qualities. We accept to become shadows without realizing it. No resisting and no jumping: not even men made of mass, but rather larva-men, ghost-men, shadow-men who, perhaps, were once men.
For images: ©FedericoTummolo