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My trips to concentration camps at various places throughout Europe and the trip to Auschwitz-Birkenau have been irreconcilable experiences. It is extremely difficult to me to accept that, over time, the blackest of humanity's absence can come to be referred to as a museum and that the train journey from Krakow to Oswiecim could become just that: a train journey from which one could return or travel further. As my visits to the camps progressed, I could not help but develop a frantic need for light, and I became obsessed with searching out even the smallest evidence of the spirit of light over its absence. As I walked from one barracks, one rail line or desolate space to another, I caught myself whispering to myself ‘if light were breath’.