Location: corner of Gospodar Jovanova and Kralj Petar, Belgrade
Distorted swings. Their seats crooked, the first closer to the ground, its corner slanting into the depth of the space. The second is higher up, leaning ever so slightly towards the facade. It's obvious why Mondrian never took up diagonal lines.
Beneath the swings, pigeons come for bread, our calves the conductors of their wings as we drive them upward.
A little girl stops by, confused by the disjointed swings. She moves uncertain from one to the other, then comes back, then observes each individually. At one point, she notices the pigeons and begins running after them in circles as they flee. Then she comes back to the swings, choosing the higher one. The voices of her mother and grandmother in the distance beckon her away in vain.
The girl swings, renewing the fervour of the broken.
Translation: Jeremy White