Obras Escogidas by Kcho, Walker Art Center
I have been offered a place in a resort designed for people recovering from a variety of non-specific ailments. Mine has something to do with my legs. I have trouble walking. The organisers offer me a special walking frame. I use it warily.
In the beginning we are able to work together well, we, the group participants and organisers, but as the days pass more and more people come to occupy the grounds and buildings of this camp. In time it is so crowded it reminds me of what it is like to share the local swimming pool in summertime on the hottest of days. There is scarcely room to move, let alone to play.
In the dream my husband, my daughters and my young son join me. My son is still in nappies. He wears a white jump suit when I first see him at the camp and I realise he has grown since the last time I saw him. The jump suit is one of his sisters’ cast offs, a little old fashioned and not suitable for a growing boy. His nappy is full and I want to change it. I go to change it but somehow someone distracts me and before I know it I have lost sight of my son.
I scoot along under the power of my walking frame knowing that I am not using it, as I should, and anxious that one of the organisers will tell me off. I realise soon this is unlikely. There is no supervision anymore at this camp. There are simply too many participants to manage. There are children everywhere. They play in underground caves where the earth has been cratered to form burrows. Palm trees grow underground, reaching for sunlight through holes in the earth’s surface.
I continue to look for my son whose name I remember is Norman. I do not like this name. I did not choose it. What could have possessed my husband to choose such a name? I cannot bring myself to call out my son’s name in public.
It is a wonder that any parent can supervise a child in this place. Chaos reigns.