This project arose from first encounter with my inner child who had been emotionally abused by my mother for years. After a long depression, I was facing the little boy whose voice I was just beginning to hear. For the first time in my life, I was seeing and accepting what had accumulated in me. Just then, I seem to hear his calling. He calls out with a poem in his own language that I have ignored and suppressed until now…

And this poem became a film:

Mother imitates the June And spins meaningless fires She doesn't even ask me but grunts, talks and curses me all clings to my veins and pulls. Leave me alone. Your hands are a prison neither a soft nor a dry torment is. You make the dungeons yours And your hands love to hold on If you don't bury the lines our hands will leave us and we’ll be getting a late cold And the fire will fade. Shame on. Shame on the pirate-eyed toys. Our feet will no longer -And you know- Step onto the moon.