About the work

The single ice skate. It belongs to the baby. An inheritance from a long-lost aunt who skated for the local team, once, in the 1970s. The aunt had loved the feeling of the blade on the ice, the glide, the cold air rushing past. The parents had found it in a box of forgotten things, a relic from a life they barely knew. They bring it everywhere, a talisman, a reminder that even in stillness there is movement, a promise of a future not yet written. But the baby has never seen ice.