The woman is in pain. Torn into pieces. Someone is holding her hand, someone else her leg, and someone else – this one a luckier one- her head. She’s wrapped in a grey veil that’s robbing her of her power. It sucks her strength like a cyclone. Years go by, centuries go by. Then, one day she stands and listens.

She’s hearing voices just like her own voice. Thin screams growing stronger and stronger. Now she follows them, she becomes one with them. She recovers her strength and picks up her pieces. A hand, a leg, the head. She steps over all the grey that sickens her, and gets dressed in all the colours of the world – she triumphs! I am bábka, you are, we are all bábka!

A small special issue – ode to woman across time through paper stories and words of important (or perhaps not that important) persons.

Bábka > puppet in slovak