Traces

The monotonous, exhausting act of skipping leaves layers of stripes on the white floor – traces of the rope, reminiscent of a flock of birds seen from afar in the sky. The moment the feet leave the ground, the floor registers every impact. Just like the mind, which bears the scars of every difficult experience. Will they slowly vanish from the horizon, like birds flying away? Just as the marks fade from the skin over time?

The sound does not reflect innocent play at all. Its source lies in its resemblance to the sound of a blow to the human body. The little girl, lifting off the ground, finds herself for a moment in the safe space of childish carefreeness, but in a moment she returns to solid ground – to the merciless world of adulthood arriving too soon. The sound of the skipping rope reminds her of what might be happening at home in her absence; after all, she should be protecting her mum, keeping an eye on her dad…

This work is my insight into the past, a reflection on the privileges of childhood and the possible pangs of conscience that come with them.