Da war ich noch nie in meinem ganzen Leben

There is a storage room in the depot where things that are not exhibited or have been discarded are piled up. It is a cluttered archive of reticent and hidden remains interwoven with our voices. These voices are our real and imitated children’s voices that continue to haunt our bodies. We visit the ghosts of that which has been sorted out, deposited, and marginalized and take them with us into the future.