This site-specific work presents itself as a residual landscape, a traversable environment in which what remains is the aftermath: charred logs, fragments, dry leaves scattered on dark soil that absorbs light. There is no trace of flames, no spectacularity of fire; rather, the work insists on the permanence of ash, on matter that has lost life but not form. Its conceptual core is condensed in this silent suspension. The work becomes an image of contemporary society: not so much devastated by a sudden event as slowly consumed. The trunk leaning against the wall appears like a broken column, a wounded body that does not collapse completely but can no longer stand; the one lying on the ground evokes a fall that has already taken place. The almost neutral environment amplifies the feeling of isolation and loss of orientation.
The decisive element is the flashing red light that pulses in space like an alarm signal. It is not a simple object, but a rhythm: a presence that interrupts the quiet and introduces an insistent temporality, a constant that looms large. In relation to Psalm 83, from which the title is taken, fire does not take on a purifying or triumphant value here; on the contrary, it manifests itself as an indiscriminate force that reduces everything to residue.
The work avoids rhetoric and chooses a tragic and meditative dimension. It is an environment that does not scream, but restrains: it invites us to pause among the remains, to measure ourselves against the ashes as a metaphor for a loss of collective awareness, and against that red flashing as a fragile possibility of consciousness.