This landscape in the French part of Belgium has a strong cinematographic feel for me. Thanks, no doubt, to a number of films I’ve seen that take place in this area. Stories that rarely end well. Uncanny, unheimisch. It’s a place where people go to hide something, themselves or others, secrets or lies, employing activities that can’t bear the light of day. The air was heavy with clouds, the light grey and cold when we arrived. The smell of wood fire and cow dung. Incidentally, the distant sounds of dogs barking and a chainsaw cutting branches from the bare trees. Other than that: quietness. A light rainfall, barely noticable. Soaking mud nevertheless. Bending roads providing an ever changing perspective, unfolding new scenes after every turn. We filled the car with old songs. And for a moment, when the sounds merged with the rhythm of the road, the world felt baffling perfect.