In the Untertürkheim suburb of Stuttgart, on the border of a residential area with single-family houses and small apartment houses, a kindergarten was created in the form of a ship.
The location is remarkable: next to gardens, facing the Kernen hilltops, close to vineyards, within sight of the Rotenberg (where the Kings of Württemberg are buried), in the middle of a long hillside sloping away from the north-east to the south-west.
To be sure, there are several possible ways of approaching an assignment of this kind. For instance, one could simply build a house of the kind that have been built in the vicinity: one- or two-storey cubes with pitched roofs. If that had been done, the children would have left their home-house in the morning for their play-house - no doubt also a valid approach. The children's world would then be largely indentical to the adult world and their world at home.
But one could also build something that did not actually exist in the world the children have lived in up to now; something that could not possibly originate in the adult world, the world that we tend to explain "rationally"; perhaps something which, at first, one would not except to find there, something that "doesn't add up". Perhaps it would be possible to build a large, habitable elephant, or a ship, or something reminiscent of an elephant or a ship, something that, in the first place, has no business being here, something that nobody expects next to the vineyards, something that was more likely to have come from a world of fantasy; a ship, which could then really belong to the children and become a part of their world.
A ship that sails away with us, who knows where, a thing we like, and like to think of in the evenings, something that later we'll enjoy remembering.