fine-art contemporary artwork. oh it's all hanging threads, hanging ligaments with drops of red: vines without poles - flesh without bones. events roll out in scarlatine flashes: eyes in crowd flap down their eyelashes and in silence the suspense grows strong. the bricks are set, the façade is over, but from within, the house still lacks a structure: one penetrates rooms without walls. a memory from the depth is brought up, a storyline used to link so many dispersed dots: leaves are flying free as the childhood tree rots...