We interrupt silence with our presence, we cross the rooms one after the other, lingering to take a few pictures and make considerations on the space, the shapes, the structures.
I feel like a tourist, a voyeur. And for that I develop a sudden reserve which prevents me from taking the real measures of the space, which are not counted in centimeters, but in gestures. I’d like to run, because there have been children here, thus if I think of children I think of running in corridors. I’d like to lay down to see the ceiling, in the rooms where these very ceiling were most liked used to many looks. (Editor’s note: Miriam is crossing through the summer camp building, the refectory, the daycare room, the main hall, the dormitories, the locker rooms, the cinema).
This place doesn’t live now, it isn’t a place because nothing happens in it, but is was built to be something specific. If one doesn’t enter carefully and treats it as a corpse, it will probably remain a gutted corpse, on which to experiment.
Taking measures can also mean taking it up with gestures that once have been commonplace, reactivating it through affection and then modify its shape from the inside, eventually, when we are not strangers anymore.

Miriam Secco