In 2007, the year before the Beijing Olympics, the city was doing its best to be ready for one of its most glorious moments in history - hundreds and thousands of people were forced out from their old houses and hundreds and thousands of old houses were torn down - the city needed a "face-lift" no matter what it cost. My 85 year old grandfather was one of the thousands who had to move out from the house he had been living in for all his life.
I couldn't help him, I was a student in Sweden, a small person who had no money and power to help him. "He thought he would die in this house. He refuses to understand why he had to move out." My mum told me on the telephone. I was far away.

It was also the house I grew up in, I remember every single corner of that house and that street. I wanted to remember it and I wanted my grandfather to remember it  - he had already started to suffer from Alzheimer's disease.

So I made this sculpture for him, a copy of the street, our street, in glass, a fragile and crystal clear material. It's purity seems like a dream, which didn't record anything but our memories.
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