Deckblatt sv. Stilllife
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A box hangs in the city. It is crumpled and of nondescript colour. It is the hero and must nonetheless often submit to its content, although it is more emotional. Its point gleams through the night, as big as a pie and red as a tomato. It inspires a story from afar, a story for the still distant observer. The story then becomes the story of the box. Because a box is actually a box. This box has seduced for decades because it tells its own story. From configuration to configuration, always new,…