Patrik Proško

Here in Socotra and generally in Yemen, I feel like a person who arrived from the golden era of our European world, even though it's now somewhat fractured. I belong to at least one percent of people in the world who can afford such above-average luxury. This contrast is particularly felt in the village of Astor, where the installation was created. It was largely destroyed by a cyclone and subsequent floods. The people who still reside there have no electricity, no television, no internet connection, no washing machine, some don't even have a phone, and some haven't been to the other side of the island, let alone visited a different continent to gain new experiences and knowledge. They have almost none of the comforts that I enjoy. The installation is made from the packaging of items that make their lives more comfortable, much like mine. Most, if not all of them, are imported from other countries, and there is a limited range of them so far, not very diverse. Most commonly, they were large barrels and containers for oil and gasoline, old car parts, tea kettles, water bottles, cans, and so on. They gave them to me from their yards, or we collected them together from the surroundings. They let me stay in their yard for three days, helped me with the installation, hosted me, and even slaughtered a goat for me. The golden age that forcibly pushes its way through the doors of their and our homes to convince us of its necessity, and we have embraced it as our own, is not limitless. The captivating evidence of the golden age and the incredible advancement of some past civilizations now remains a silent memento of the limits whose crossing led to their downfall and complete extinction. The golden age created with people who have golden hearts and photographed during the golden hour.