The fact, that the way of production determines the way of life, has been known for a really long time: in fact, Karl Marx had built on his system of historical materialism base on this proclaiming the primacy of the economic basis over the cultural superstructure. Production relationships underlie social differentiation determine our way of life: we are what we do; everybody gives as much as they can, everyone gets as long as they work.

The digital economy deliberately erasing all differences in fact is only intended to blur them. In the backyards of large agglomerations and metropolises screaming inequality and injustice are found, and behind the facade of global luxury capitalism there is a hard work of labourers and children, serving the clean collars of sales managers day and night. The information economy of the metropolises produces words, while the country is producing their carriers, heavy metal and lead emissions as well. This is how the dark post-Soviet zaibatsu work, agents of the clan economy, enriching a handful of wealthy people who are building their business on injured bodies.

The Vyksa Metallurgical Plant literally occupies a third of the city. It's a self-contained system that nurtures the constructivist ideal of a man-machine, whose life is subordinated to a mutual purpose and common work for the good of the state, selling heavy metal as easy and gratuitous prey. Here that pipes for oil pipelines are produced, pumping natural resources from the bowels of the earth, and belonging to the people is just a paper. However, the life of the plant is not subordinated here to the life of a person, but on the contrary — it's a person who appears to become a faithful cog in a well-functioning machine: to get up with the sun, finish the working day before sunset, in order to fall asleep before midnight, being ready to start over and over again tomorrow, to link the working week "from Friday to Friday". People-gears work, the course of pipelines-highways is fine, and now we no longer notice how natural cycles and spontaneity are replaced by system and clarity.

Mechanization and division of labor does not tolerate an individual approach. In a system like this a woman really works on an equal footing with a man and the permanence of production excludes downtime or illness. Black dust that settles on the lungs, fumes penetrating the blood itself, exceeding the permissible noise level (plus, one cannot speak of occupational hygiene) cause a bunch of chronic diseases, and women often end up their seniority facing breast cancer. Here it is, body outsourcing pushed to the limit.

Diane Schliemann's installation raises the contradictions of this mode of production to the surface, makes them glaring. A large, black, geometrically adjusted steel structure turns into a cage, the shadow of which is intertwined with the shadow of the viewer falling into it. The sound recorded at the factory, is reminiscent of rough industrial genre — music of sublime awe of the power and possible cruelty of technology. In order for the course of the human round dance inside the body of the plant to be smooth and spore, the iron floor is covered with welding not to slip. The same pattern has formed the basis of steel panels depicting conditional flowers that surround the cage like a wild garden, a hint of the unrestrained force of nature, which one day will get share of the cake. Despite the fact that of being appropriated and turned into an attribute of the patriarchal state heraldry, their symmetry refers to the sacredness of the female body.

Turned into an appendage of the machine according to Marx and having body and mind separated, man still could not drown out the mind of the body, rebellious and desiring. Flowers like scars on the skin metaphorically resemble appendages — the ovaries and fallopian tubes of a woman — which can actually become either raging and tender thickets of new life, or a grave bouquet. Just as a woman's body can be fraught with new life or new growth, so our life can be a source of joy or meaningless suffering. The only question is if we have a choice.