We bury our past with such aplomb. Dirt is thrown on it so swiftly that we never stop to consider what it is we’re hiding. The secrets we lose with each generation are… well maybe they’re for the better. But this, this poster thought Schlomo was something else.
He didn’t even have the full context for it, but he stood there in the sewer enraptured. The light playing off the ice. The bleak peaks in the distance. The lone rider. It made something itch in the back of his mind. Schlomo knew this or something like it.
The very sight of the poster called into question his memories. For some time now he’d been struggling to sort them from his dreams. Some felt so real. As real as the poster before him. Others, were distance ripples in the fabric of his mind, echoing downs the tunnels of time. Much as his team was as they plodded their way under the building above.
Schlomo ran a hand along the poster’s edge. The entire thing was old and brittle. Removing it would be tricky and potentially time consuming. But the more he looked at it the more he knew he had to have it. So he put his tool box down, opened it, and got to work.
Today’s art is courtesy of Lucia Massucco from Buenos Aires, Argentina.