I have always been very scared of the future: it comes from the sensation that we, as a capitalistic society, have long gone past the acme of our hubris, and that our alleged omnipotence could soon meet its doom. Visiting the Yusupov palace in Saint Petersburg some time ago,
I thought about how the commodification of the place was the perfect example of downfall of a power that, in
its own time, thought to be immortal like we do, and I imagined a story that would connect that time to ours, like a metonymy of our times. I felt it had to be channeled through a character that could also work as a metaphoric funnel for our own mechanisms of disparity, patriarchy and cultural obstinacy, and through a narrative device that could allow me to connect baroque maximalism with our century’s digital aesthetics. This character had to believe in something deeper than the illusions of her time: in the truth that eventually shines on every era, finally separating evil from good, mere hallucinations from the precognition of a world that could be better, if only it knew the meaning of “enough”.