SCH

Two shirts are sewn together as in a mirror. One is up, the other down. They have become a schizophrenic entity, yet are still separate. From time to time the sound of birds’ wings flapping comes from inside the shirts, a sound almost like the beat of a heart in love. At the same time, lights, at the same places where the hearts would be, light up. How much are we “one” when we love? Where is the line drawn? Will this schizophrenic feeling ever end?