Lock them up.... and throw away the key

The Kiss, Olichov, 2005

By the side of the road near the village of Olichov is a big red fence. When we stop our car, the people of the Sanatorium are already waiting for us, waving, clinging on to the bars of the fence in their blue uniforms or simple dresses. They are the unwanted people of Slovakia, locked up behind bars.

Their clothes have their personal numbers on it, they are fed with all the calming-drugs and food that can be provided, but it would be too easy to condemn this all. The sun is shining, the people are laughing, touching our cheeks, holding our hands like we are their long lost sons and daughters. Or the children they could never have because they are sterilised.

I take my time to make a picture of this man, he is drawling out of his black-teethed mouth, his blue uniform tells me he is number 663. While he is playing hide and seek with me, trying to avoid the camera while his smile getting bigger and bigger, I wonder how number 663 got his tattoo. Later, the nurse tells me he was married, had two little children and a house. When the lightning struck him and his brain was damaged his wife dropped him off at the sanatorium. They never saw her again.

Later on the people stroll off, lie down on the grass to take a nap. Others go to the field to harvest the apples they grew, or sit on benches in the shade to listen to some music, hold hands, steel a kiss.