At the entrance, where you stand right now, you will find me, the exhibition text at the ready with all the details. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask somebody else.
You’re inside the exhibition looking around and you might ask yourself—while squinting your eyes, scratching the winter dandruff off your scalp, and hydrating your dry lips with your tongue—something like: “What’s the meaning of this?” and search again for me. Take a big whiff of this fine aroma called information. Your habit-forming compulsion for answers will be satiated shortly.
The distance between us is more real than any proximity we may have with each other. Understanding is not just about comprehension, it’s a sympathetic process. Tangential forces abound—endless available answers in an automated world of analysis production—, bouncing off the praxis of thought. The interests of the artist are usually already spelled out. But, what do you really know? Or, as the Icelandic Seeress once…
