les anges se promènent dans berlin

“c’est encore une nuit où les anges se promènent dans berlin”

art… how can we get closer to understanding it. or do artworks want to understand us? how do they make sense of things?

pots, plates, south america, more than a century old.
pictures, sculptures. recognising art. isn’t that the ability to bestow belief on your own imagination?


imagination connects objects to us and makes their aura visible. an artwork cannot live without a viewer. viewers give a picture its soul and allow the picture to breathe life into theirs.

and as the picture enlivens our soul, we create a connection, a connection that gives our life strength and spirit.

there are so many sides to a picture, as many as there are faces and facial expressions in the world. there is no one single story.

in addition to my musings on art, i also want to present works and find, perhaps invent, a story for them. one story from many. the essence probably lies in the oscillations between all the many possible stories, and perhaps, in that movement, lies life.

i do not want the writing of art stories to be an act of writing history, of grabbing hold of something, storing it, suffocating it and fixing it in the past. i want my texts to be personal stories, stories that reach back into the past and all the way into the future, stories that still to this day give a work a strength, its strength. art triggers something inside us and makes us live and love. art will not be constrained by the notion of time and instead only acts NOW.