We constantly try to return to the naive gaze of a child. We try to return to the portrait in a drawing, made by a hand without control of strength and form, but which creates a perfect caricature of what it sees. With bluntness, without filters.

We try to return to the happiness of being able to play in a park, without the worries of adult life. Or, we long to be able to play for all the moments we were not allowed to, because we were made to grow up too quickly.

The concept of a playground emerges as a hypothetical and changeable place for each of us. It can be a park, or it can be a place in our memory. In this ‘playground,’ there are only bodily fragments. We no longer fit in this place—but we can visit it momentarily.

We can feel happiness for brief moments, but never in the same way.