If the Netherlands could choose a flag to represent its culture, the wood windmill would be the single most iconic thing to be on it. With such a tight knitted relationship that this country has for wind, the 2000s era has cultivated the wind into energy, and technology no longer evoke the same feelings as the friendly windmill, but rather, aliens in the empty fields, blank obstructions by the lonely highways. While they hold virtually no meaningful cultural values, can we still humanise the industrial wind turbines? Can we care for them as part of the modern relationship that the Netherlands associates with wind as it rises and falls?

A few months ago, three students, Saif Ragaei, Ammar Yasser and Mariam Ihab, interviewed by KooZA/rch,  realised “how unstable the notion of normal life is by examining the situations where this sense of normalcy is destroyed in a horrific suddenness.” They questioned the fragility of our day to day in the face of political conflict and natural disasters and for the theme of the future of home they sent their contribution of technical drawings of destruction.

Historically, in fiction and mythology, a doppelgänger is portrayed as a ghostly double, a paranormal oddity, and harbinger of bad luck. Meeting ourselves, and being left disappointed, it’s a terrifying thought nonetheless. So we avoid listening to our own recordings: we’d rather deal with calculated selfies, or premeditated TikTok performances, then listen to our voice at its natural state.