Drawing from her on-site research on current (re)appropriations of spaces, her stories, technologies, documents and vegetables, Anna Bromley engages her interlocutors in memories, tirades, reflections and speculations.

In the process, she is sent from one person to the next and features an arthouse filmmaker, a cinema and its young film festival director, two musicians and a sound engineer, a philosopher who, by chance, curated an implausible exhibition just before the war, whose archival traces are being taken care of by the next generation today, a stage designer, who became a gallerist during the repression, a fierce cultural journalist and his garden, an artist who befriends a Serbian-speaking mining town, a story-woven project space which is now a parking lot, and the 1980s adolescent years of a trans woman and her companion.

Talking, giggling, munching and getting lost, they go to the village, to the cinema or to the much-loved restaurant Tiffany, plunging themselves into the past and the translation app.

A radio drama serves as the prelude to nine sonic portraits: seven of human beings, and two of spaces. Beginning with her own teenage years in East Berlin, which was conforming to a so-called West, the artist interweaves micro-stories from Kosovo that reveal the effects of identity politics on lived lives.

For her essay-like storytelling, she distorts original sounds from archival recordings and fuses them into electroacoustic compositions. In words and sound, she imagines a hypothetical future that could be fed by the dreamed lives of the voices she has recalled.