Rastko Močnik: the all-encompassing giant’s outlook, the secret dwarf’s participatory view, the two avenues to the world of wonders and of puzzlement we have all indulged in, and which we all have equally lost. A world we can only nostalgically recollect - until Kovačič makes us recapture it, together with the sharp consciousness of its irretrievable loss. We not only see, again, the illusion - we also “see” the sight that contrives it and is charmed by its own product. And if, amongst the trivia of our childhood, we come across the red star of the daring hopes of past humanity, the historic shades of its tragic abuse comfortingly blur with the shadows of our own idiosyncratic traumatisms, the distantly aching companions of our childhood - the solid rock of our present subjectivity. And we know: we will never come to terms with the tears of the child within us - while it is precisely this incapacity of ours that makes us humans who we are. We will never consent to the treachery of history - and it is this very resistance that makes us face the treason we have to live.