Kreismühle

There she stands, confidently, like a goddess of technological junk, surrounded by endless mountains of rubbish, plastic, stench and rare earths. Her accusations are angry, composed and to the point.

Three kids are trying to stand strong. In a world where you don’t know for what you want to stay strong. Full of sexuality and the need to define their identity. “We are the children with no obligations, the most possibilities, with the most liberated freedom. We are children who build words. Children who give birth to children. We are children of our time, free from guilt.”

A metaphor with mechanical overtones, an unbroken chain of three situations, divergent and yet connected by a single element: pulsating, living steel. A family car with a mom and her kid, a furious truck, flying cars. An endless lullaby of engines.

Daughter and father meet in a white room. An innocent conversation about a deal with the Queen reveals: the apparent emptiness is taken up by a stigmatised diagnosis and decades of silence. What begins as a questioning about the past develops into a sincere dialogue in the present.