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Singularities

In the middle of a plaza, a cubic building. Behind its mirror windows, behind its metal doors, modern art, waiting for the grand opening. In front of the building, a crowd of people.

They stand there, waiting, their cameras ready to take the first pictures. There's excitment in the air, and rumours on the move. Apparently, only a limited number of paintings
will be on display.

The discussion is interrupted by young athletes dressed in blue and silver, who enter the plaza. They turn their bodies into wheels, they juggle them, they fly through the air, creating ever changing figures.

At the end of their performance, they stand still for a group picture. The youngest one of them, a boy with hair so blonde that it seems white, opens a bottle, and inserts a ring. Soap bubbles, he will create, a shower of soap bubbles,
to fill the air.

Cameras are focused, yet the boy, he takes his time. He breathes in, then breathes out. Finally he raises the ring to his mouth and creates one single bubble.

The bubble drifts slowly in the wind. People start to gesture, to laugh, to shout. The boy, though, is in another world, he doesn't notice the outside, all he sees is the one bubble. The one perfect shimmering bubble.

Some moments later, the curator gives the sign to open the museum door. Then he breathes in, awaiting the reaction of the visitors when they see that all the museum holds -
is one single painting.


(text: D. Lang, Germany; picture: N. Baltazar, Canada)


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