Ještěd in a cage 11 - 2nd place

Elena Fialková (4th year) - House with an arch
atelier Ing.arch. akad.arch. Jana Hendrycha and Ing.arch. Ing. Jiřího Janďourka

They say the meadow is full of children and scents, and grasses grow on it and crowds have lunch.

This is the Crimean island that branches off from the street named Krymská.

Vršovická meadow. A meadow without recognition. Without acknowledgement. Without identity.



A person has eyes. Has ears. And all sorts of things. It is all stronger than concrete.

And from it, a wall. A three-way invention.

It knows how to take your hand and lead. Or stop. 

Last time, it forced me to buy apples in the arcade.

In the evening, we went there with my boyfriend for a beer.

He doesn’t drink beer. He goes to buy potatoes at the market from Mr. neighbor.

Just between us, I think he goes there to chat; he always meets someone there. He never admitted it.

In the pink house, it lives yellow. The sun shines there. 

The wardrobe is a wall. The windowsill is a bench. The bench is a shelf. The curtain is a wall.
In that one space, we have to love each other. The realtor concealed that when selling the apartment.

I don’t hold it against him.
He did not conceal the café in the underpass. What’s more. 

I leave with a sour taste of coffee on my palate.

Through a mouse hole to the meadow. I respectfully greet the little people who play at being big.

I hear the booming double bass resonating through the square.

I am leaving the Vršovice opus.