The Values ​​of Finding Things

There is a folded piece of paper on the floor; the wind blowing between the pages reveals that it has been written on. Someone lost it. It could be a letter. Maybe an important clue. The anonymous report of a hostage situation? Stand, unfold, read, know? Maybe it’s just a shopping list. Or something private. Erotic Poems? Carry on, forget, never know?
The Langenhagen city park becomes my experimental field. Objects that seem lost on sidewalks and a silent observer in the distance documenting every struggle with your conscience. Do you take the bracelet with you? Do you read the note? Will you call me?
The result of the observation runs in an endless loop of four meters of paper.