by Michael Glawogger

In the beginning, the images in my head were from old Russian films: workers as icons. Heroes. Bodies united in the fight for a better world. Human bodies that work more, faster, better, that can move mountains with mere muscle and willpower.

Soon, the faces of tired, unwashed workers mingled in my mind’s eye: at breakfast in a humble kitchen. Or the man who emphatically claimed that the only way to get ahead is through hard work. Then, gradually, the disappearance crept into the picture—I saw the disappearance of a class. Of class consciousness. And finally, there came the images of dying, vivid and fierce.

But in the midst of death, the worker enjoys his work. Joy of living, energy, perseverance.

There are places where monuments of heroes still stand tall against the backdrop of the sky. But looking ahead, people see a future of hope. In the end, everything is bright and shiny. Blast furnaces are imbued with new splendor, the plant grounds filled with milling tourists and neighborhood youths. They too are being told that one can only get ahead through hard work. They too will rejoice, mourn, fight, work, and live before they disappear. Like water characters written on stone.