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Sit in my studio watching the play of shadows. The sun plays with the contrasts laid out over the floor and walls. Follow the slow sliding of the shadows.
Suddenly remind my teacher at the academy: where there is light you can shoot!
With the passing of the shadows, I also see my life slipping by, as I stare at the white canvas. Sighing, I get up. Thirst. Glass of water. The miracle of the current infrastructure: water from the tap.
As in The Summer of ’42, by Michel Legrand, so I get carried away in the flow of that music, I am also carried away in shadows of life. A shadow passes across the canvas. Follow it. Amazement. I once put some hyacinths in my studio by the window. They look at the light in amazement and know that spring is coming.
Light and shadow an endless rhythm. Like life and death. As long as this planet will continue to exist and the sun is not extinguished. Look at the hyacinths.
Doorbell! Ah, my ordered canvases. Sign for receipt, thank you. Shadows tell me the time, as they slip into eternity. In my mind I close the door. Unpack my new canvases and clean up. It’s Friday. A party tonight. Hate parties. Well-known gallery owners come together there. Have to peddle with my work there.
Open the door of my storage and store my new canvases there. In the kitchen, I pull open the fridge. Go…
