Red Cross motionpainting - one of the few works I've done that contain explicit personal narrative elements. When I was five years old, I was living with my family in St. Amour, a small French village in the Jura. Some time in the spring of 1945, I remember taking a walk with my Grandfather on a country road and coming across a Red Cross camp. Three men were in front of one tent - one was sitting down on a chair and held down by another man, while a third was sawing his leg off above the knee. It fell into a large bucket, but very little blood spurted out. The experience of seeing this terrified me.