A room is immersed in semi-dark­ness. In the cen­ter of the space, a woman is lying on a sparse met­al plat­form, fran­ti­cal­ly shak­ing her head back and forth on a foam pil­low. She seems absent, lost in her own world. Her man­ic, com­pul­sive move­ments appear autis­tic; at the same time, they evoke asso­ci­a­tions to the motion of a pump or pis­ton.
A cam­era point­ed at the woman’s head cap­tures the action.

The scene is sur­round­ed by three large pro­jec­tion screens, sus­pend­ed from the ceil­ing in a half-cir­cle around the plat­form. Seen on these are close-up shots of radar screens, rotat­ing on their axes in a con­tin­u­al, almost sto­ic-look­ing fash­ion. They feel gigan­tic rel­a­tive to the woman in the fore­ground. A beat can be heard that seems to be in sync with the rotat­ing screens. Then a song is played, a woman sings in a duet with a man:

…You don’t see me from a dis­tance, don’t look at my smile/ And think that I don’t know, what’s under and behind me/ I don’t want you to look at me and think that what’s with­in you is in me (…) Seem­ing­ly con­nect­ed, not alone in the world/ Not sep­a­rat­ed from birth/ We go past and remain/ because every­one rec­og­nizes them­selves in it…”

Grad­u­al­ly the music fades into a tran­quil waltz. After awhile this com­mu­ni­cates a feel­ing of being safe and pro­tect­ed, a kind of con­tent­ed­ness. The rotat­ing of the radar screens seems more and more like a spin­ning dance motion, which also imparts some­thing har­mon­ic to the woman’s man­ic ges­tures.
The entire time, the cam­era is record­ing the rhyth­mic move­ments of her head, trans­mit­ting it to a small mon­i­tor via a long, heavy cable, which is sus­pend­ed from the ceil­ing at the entrance to the instal­la­tion. In addi­tion to the mon­i­tor, which at times also shows the woman’s face in close-up, the spec­ta­tor has a view of the room. How­ev­er, a bar­ri­er pre­vents the instal­la­tion from being entered. The set­ting is per­ceived as a three-dimen­sion­al image, which, on the one hand, frames being alone as an aspect of pri­va­cy that is to be pro­tect­ed. On the oth­er hand, the instal­la­tion shows that pro­tec­tive ele­ments can be abused; with their help pri­va­cy is exposed – the pri­vate becomes part of the pub­lic. And, vice-ver­sa, the pub­lic becomes pri­vate, lead­ing to a rel­a­tiviz­ing of the indi­vid­ual and the per­son­al, or expos­ing sup­posed devi­a­tions from the norm.