Following the traces of Glenn Gould and his so-called “Solitude-Trilogy” up north at Lake Superior seemed a welcome alibi for a middle-european to explore a little bit of what is called THE NORTH for Canadians, what it means to drive hours and hours without one single settlement, having the car radio and the camera as sole companions. And what community might mean under the circumstances of the periphery. What I brought back from there? The certainty that there is definitely no marxist in the White House! And that even in the most remote retreat: Beware of the dogs!
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