We’ll start the history with the Onion King, the one whoruled the kingdom of multi-layered produce and supplied the capital in thevalley with its golden fruit.

During his heyday, space was being made across thesea. Space for industry, for labour, for the dream of a better life. Thesespaces were designed to take care of our dust, our filth, our bodies. Modernityentered the room. As the fruit travelled across the sea, so did its caretakers,moving toward another cultivated landscape, one built from yellow and redbrick.

Red bricks were laid and grouted with a mixture ofoptimism and fear—of what was to come. Landless peasants and workers movedtoward the same destination along distinctly different paths: one tied to theland, the other to the punch clock. Yet both remained dependent on theirbodies. With every step, every supporting hand against the brick-laid walls, wehonour their labour with something akin to a chant, a psalm carried through theacoustics of a cathedral, wishing them well on their journey toward unknownshores.

But all reigns must come to an end, the Onion Kingploughed his ground one last time and turned his fields into foundations fortowering buildings. Buildings filled with new homes and bodies to care for anddispose of. Some things remain the same, but the onion shall be with us nomore.

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