|Photo: Niels Larsen, October 15, 2015.|
An entrance with aspirations reaching back to Antiquity and yet unmistakably of the 20th century; that all too long and bloodied century.
A door of proportions promising to open to a sizeable house behind it of which Thomas Mann and his Russian colleagues would have approved. The promise of a household or an enclave such as a sanatorium, where an amount of persons are placed together playing out their follies and weaknesses against one another. To the extent that the entrance was made extinct. No. 35 is now to be entered to the left beyond our focus.
But the voices are still there. The layers of graffiti are still voicing each their protest pointing to that larger canvas of society, which had its hand in how the novel of life played out.