The attic is an assembly point of remembrances, a sheltered harbor for the accumulation of family history, inscribed into multiple generations of discarded objects. What do the twin sisters feel when combing their grandparents' attic? How would they cope with the encounter of possible family secrets, with age-old things on which time has left its patina, with objects that ancestors couldn't disposed of? The journey of discovery is followed by a moment of repose. In quiet resignation they pause to reflect on what they've just before seen and experienced, their hands as meditative as their gazes. The vertical lines of the ancient wallpaper, lining up with the bars of the bed, rain down gently. Does the innocence of youth already dream of a future past?
