It is a large industrial hall where the metal structure is covered with gray blue paint. To the left on a large concrete wall, the sleeping machines, rubber cutting machines; to the right on the first floor, the windows; they are illuminated giving the impression that the offices remain always in activity. At the back behind transparent straps that act as a door, a passage, I see light. I’m borrowing it now. I find myself in a space that looks like a garage. On the ground, the shelled red burgundy paint delimits empty spaces now. This place must have been used as a warehouse for old machinery. Now the wolves are watching the com- pound. They look away from the bubbling water. There’s smoke in the distance. The full moon clings to the snow of the trees: memory of a walk in the forest.

— Damien Caccia