My first summer job was a welder in this factory. I was seventeen and I'd just got my high school diploma. Me, who'd heard about factories all my childhood, now I was in one: the accomplishment of life as the son of workers.
Fortunately, I only stayed two months. After that, I said bye to my colleagues and I got out of there to finish my studies. Should I feel guilty? What made me be able to leave and not them? In fact, I would have liked to have saved the working class. Instead, I decided to come back to the factory to make a sculpture and to reconnect with the workers with whom I had worked four years earlier.