An eerie silence hangs in the air. Even the wind seems to have died down to nothing. It’s dark inside the old factory, and cool in spite of the heat outside. Hundreds of molds and casts are stacked against the wall, over tables and on shelves, almost attractive in their ramshackle regularity. In contrast, the limbs, heads and bodies strewn around the dilapidated space are creepy – almost macabre – as if the stricken figures have been victims of dissection. Or butchery.