family (society) suicide

Only a baby on a tricycle will maybe be saved from society’s suicide. His noose remains empty and swing for the rest of his existence as an outstanding Sword of Damocles. Faults, that fall inevitably on children as Original Sin, touch him yet leave him unharmed. It’s the game of saving him. Will of playing, still intact, allows him to turn back and to watch the swinging shadows from his hanging relatives. No problem is solved, air will probably burn his lungs and bank will take his home from him, but if there will be a conviction he will not make it on himself. The only thing which bonds him to his relatives is the anonymous uniformity of features. That’s why he stops in order to look at them, to be finally detached from their non-distinction and lack of individuality. In him, the survivor of the serial suicide, we put our hopes.

(Marco Ongaro)