At the second floor of the gallery, the difficult task of answering questions coming from the young asian assistant. She is all dressed in pastels, with Chanel shoes. Chanel handbag included. She can't decipher my answers. All she does is smiling with a slight disdain, with some giggling on top. She is repeating the same question, again. She just doesn't get me, a conversation is impossible, all I ask now is a truce. But to meet somewhere in the middle, to have a conversation is not on her agenda. She knows something that I don't know. She hits me back with more smiles, they come in all kinds of sizes, always with disapproval, because I am not playing the part. All she wants is to fill the press release, the leaflet, the catalogue of my upcoming exhibition. After I am gone she is just going to do her thing, which is dumping a bunch of clichés and formulations to illustrate my images, my artworks, or perhaps, my artworks only exist in order to illustrate her clichés and formulations. At the opening I will feel as if on my wedding day someone exchanged the bride. And why do I go through such humiliations? And for which purpose? She smiles again. Nevermind, I am leaving. I get my bike, I disappear into the traffic on Dover Street. I stop on a red light. I tell myself, 'it seems to me that the only honest and noble aim is to impose the best of me. Make myself be believed. But how? By taking the long way around, to don't conform with what I already know, to don't settle with my inner world. By knowing myself and exploring the world, and expressing the world. To find beauty in the world. By observation. By becoming endless. But once again, I cannot just say that. The work has to say it, for me. Otherwise, I would be making statements. And statements are only intentions, statements are only worth publishing afterwards, only when one has already achieved the extraordinary. Once the work speaks by itself. Once they are obvious, unnecessary. Otherwise statements are only dreams. Unfulfilled projects. And the world is already full of those.' The light turns green, like giving me it's approval, 'yes, now you can continue, like this'.
London, Winter 2018