The small kitchen has a dirty concrete floor and a low window overlooking a garden with an iron rail. The garden is immodest, the kitchen is extra, the living-room is solitary and the bedroom is reserved for the sleeping person. The garden is the inverse of the bedroom, in that it is a blank page to be written on by one who has no control over it, and who, consequently, inspires awe and passion in the passer-by.

Everybody has a place, but not everyone has a hobby. Everyone has a need, but not everyone has a job. People come and go, fill up and go, pause and rest, take a moment to enjoy themselves, then they come back to work. The landscape keeps its place, but the machine that cuts it up and polishes it is also the place of play, of surprises, and of menial tasks. It is the antithesis of the “public space.”