Walking on the dusty road I approach monumental, but neglected, and as time will reveal, also dysfunctional gate. There, I jump over a small short wall, and after overcoming short anxiety I dare to go inside. I slowly begin to see divine scenery. Lot of palm trees, aromatic almonds, a mixture of dried flowers, which are quickly replaced by new ones. Tiny insects and specific climate. Immediately, I put down my rucksack, shirt and, finally, my shoes. Quietness of the breathing forest brings me pleasure and assurance that I may get comfortable. I imitate bird sounds, so that I soon realise, that I haven´t pronounced a sentence for a couple of days. I don´t miss it. I don´t wait for a visit. Ultimate? Where is my famous pocket machete from a market for 2 pesos? I crawl on my four through the huge tangled branches of a short dark bush. I imitate movement of a tree, as it was growing, in order to sling out of the branches. I´m done. I am barefoot, dirty and in awe. Inside of this never-ending jungle, there stands a masonry cold mansion.
In the context of the climate crisis, my generation was already born in the skin of a slow-cooked frog, but it was not until the covid pandemic and the outbreak of the Russian-Ukrainian war that our self-image was fully shattered. The ensuing shock and disillusionment have caused a definitive erosion of our supposedly fundamental values of rationality and humanism, and call for the need to redefine them. In the works of the emerging generation of artists, this reassessment is manifested in particular by a turn towards their countervalues: towards romanticism, spirituality, or the quest for the equal status of all members of the planetary community.
