Small museum of the end of the world - detail
He enjoyed the sweet warmth of global warming
He enjoyed the sweet warmth of global warming - detail
They realized with horror that they had forgotten the butter knife
They realized with horror that they had forgotten the butter knife – detail
The end of the world came and she missed it
The end of the world came and she missed it - detail
Disappointed by men, next time God addressed the beavers instead
Disappointed by men, next time God addressed the beavers instead - detail
Small museum of the end of the world
SMALL MUSEUM OF THE END OF THE WORLD
A miniature museum that houses four Retablos, one for each element of nature: earth, air, fire, water. Four dioramas about the end of the world in an extreme synthesis of the multiple ends of the world – our world.
The first Retablo is linked to the earth: to its warming, to the climate change that also makes the apocalypse look beautiful, seen from within. A moment of crazed blooms.
The second Retablo is related to air: life in motion that passes through our bodies, breath that animates us, the gust that travels through the sky and brings devastation while we worry about other things, while we look the wrong way.
The third Retablo is linked to fire: the most classic element of destruction. Armageddon, darkness, meteorites on fire: and the same old, unlucky little ego who misses the Grand Finale.
The fourth Retablo is linked to water: it is all over and water washes everything away with a new deluge. Mankind has played its last card, and at this point, the task of rescuing those starting from scratch is entrusted to others.
The public wanders around the museum contemplating the works.
We observe the show we ourselves have staged, as if there were a window between us and reality and we were looking in from the outside.
Our species has not protected the planet and now the planet is defending itself. But it could also be a presumptuous point of view: maybe we are just an accident, a boring infestation, a skin irritation. Like lice are for us. Only, we also have the certificate of ownership of the portions of the skin of the world that we inhabit.
Sometimes it seems like our souls are infinite and we do wonderful things. Sometimes we are petty, our souls pinheads.
Between the wonder and the horror are the days, the Mondays and the Tuesdays and the other little lives we keep tidy by giving them names that repeat themselves, in a tame rhythm. Each day contains small acts that slowly and inexorably lead us in one direction or another.
