Collage[s] 03

Beaux yeux Belle Bouche, septembre 1981

Factory Life...

Now that the factory is shut he no longer knows where to hang his memories.

He speaks of the time when the machines were running. When the world was running. It was his world. These days he can't sleep or sleeps badly. He talks loudly. The noise left him deaf.

He kept his tools. He uses them from time to time. That way he can repeat the gestures made thousands of times during his life as a worker.

When he came home at night, he smelled of grease and sweat. He smelled of the factory. He was tired. He didn't play with us.

He talks of the factory, he carries it inside him. Like a cancer. Like a grief. It has taken a human shape. He drags it around. He lives with it.

He would like to retrace his steps. To go back there.

But the factory is shut. For ever. The factory is shut. For ever...