But soon we see colourful structures growing, people dance happily in reels joyful fireworks pop up. But there is no lasting fortune. The dunes are ruthlessly whipped away, the township or favela turns into the big city, and the Moloch of modern times is born. High rising buildings grow into the sky like mushrooms after the rain. Noisy megapolis has conquered the stage.
Now here and there walls of the skyscrapers flap open and reveal little human scenes, miniatures with good, sometimes rather black humour: Images of amusement and entertainment, of love and self-deception, of solitude and everyday boredom, of disturbing noises and even murder. An old gramophone is playing almost forgotten tunes, a row of empty bottles are the lonely drinkers chimes. Bob Rutman and his fellow musicians now play an infernal symphony, a battery of huge tubes like a missile launcher starts barking and thundering, triggered by controlled gas explosions. A human figure, a naked puppet, male or female who knows, certainly without wings, climes up to the top of the central tube and finally dares to jump into the open and literally inflamed, a human firebird, flies around the wasted place and then disappears through the venues door. The music has faded away....

I think Sarah Wright and her team from England, Holland and Germany have
created an apocalyptical vision of great beauty and strength, a requiem for Icarus and all of us who would like to fly but are caught by time and tide.

It is a masterpiece.

...back.