Bread is a staple food. We have too much of it. We try to dispose of it sensibly by taking it to pet owners or feeding the ducks. In the river in front of my atelier, I watch stale bread by the kilo float by every day. It is a powerful image for our lifestyle. On the one hand, we have too much bread; on the other hand, we attempt, rather feebly, to avoid unethical behaviour. Our conscience plagues us. Surely, we do not play with food!
To be able to gorge oneself someday is no longer a collective dream for us here. A fairytale such as “The Story of Schlauraffen Land” dates back to a different time. A house made of bread would no longer lure children into the forest. The playhouse made of stale bread is the counterpart to the witch’s gingerbread house.