Pushing the heavy metal door left ajar, I entered the subterranean nuclear bunker through a grey, dimly lit tunnel progressively unravelling the labyrinthine-buried circuitry of the interior structure. Outside, in the humid landscape of central Sweden, shreds of fog attached themselves to the canopy of pine trees. A mesh of sensations and ideas brutally imposed themselves: the uncanny muffled suspension of air, ancient tombs, hidden knowledge, reminiscences of mythological Greek caverns, profound fears and insecurities, telescoped fragments of literary readings from Lewis Carroll’s Alice to Plato’s cave and Lascaux’s grotto. Penetrating the bowels of the hidden architecture offered a temporal journey permeated with images of the Cold War and, simultaneously, a spectacle of James Bond–esque grotesque. It took a few hours of walking around to totally grasp the internal layout: the matrixing corridors, floors, multiple spaces, and rooms that stretch underneath a sixty-meter layer of Nordic granite protecting the former...

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