Friday, November 29, 2013


Who am I?

Am I light source without a switch?

What are the cracked images reflected in the bathroom mirror …

I was a De Kneig stylized fa├žade, and then like a space

Permutating-Pompidou-centre - I landed amongst the homogenous coloured jungle of an old city.

I was the plastic-edifice on the set of a movie I never wanted to see.

Now-the-bleak-austerity-of-a-weeping-wall.

Why do the soulless duple clones cling-to-me?

 And the colour supplement contributing pseudo wait on my command.

What is my life?

My portrait is of an-empty-room, a broken-lipstick, a nomad on a journey through time, the-last-call.

I am, an-artist-haunted vis a vis an-artist-haunting.