Text by Luca Frei
Is this a park, or the memory of one?
Does the arch mark a site, or call it into being?
When does the park begin – on the ground, or in its naming?
What does naming hold, once the form is gone?
Is this a beginning, or what remains?
What was here before?
Is this a reconstruction, or an invention?
How long has it been there?
Does it remember?
Is this a threshold?
A frame?
A way of seeing?
Can an entrance exist without an inside?
Is crossing beneath it an act, or an agreement?
What changes when you pass under it?
Where does inside begin?
Where does outside end?
The one standing there – where are they?
Where is in-between?
Do the trees complete the sign, or the sign the trees?
Does the forest frame it, or absorb it?
Will the forest grow through it?
Will the arch remain visible?
Or will it slowly disappear?
Is this a monument, or a rehearsal for loss?
A folly?
Does it belong to an early moment, or a late one?
What kind of time gathers here?
Is this an origin, or a remainder?
What does the forest say?
What does the road say?
Do they speak to each other?
Is this a social place, or a solitary one?
Is it open?
Is it complete, or incomplete?
What does the sign say?
Is it a gift?
To whom?
Or is it something left behind?
By whom?
Is this optimism?
Or irony?
Does its existence depend on permanence, or on a glimpse?
Can it be moved?
Can a park exist more as an idea than a place?
A flash image?
Or as a name searching for its image?
Does the visitor fix its meaning?
Does the park remain indifferent?
What does it mean to stand before a place that may already be gone?