Exhibitions People Who Work Here (group exhibition), David Zwirner Gallery, New York City, US (2012), 3 chapter exhibition: THE LGB Group, realized in collaboration with John Holten, Gallery D.O.R., Brussels, BE (2011), Tomorrow I Will Be Happy (solo exhibition) Motto, Berlin, DE (2011) Publications Kakofonie n.2, Broken Dimanche Press (2010), ’The Readymades’, Broken Dimanche Press, 2011
Berlin, June 5th 2009
Every day, at least for a second I step out from the apartment.
Sometimes I go to buy flowers. At first I always pay the attention to the white flowers and if I don’t find them too beautiful, then I decide to get something else, but always in a combination with white. What I love the most are the white spaces. They remind me of traquillity and organization, preciseness and cleanness. Like the white box of a brand new Martin Margiela’s ring.
In white I can see the structures. Walls, every single line.
When I think about white I think about The Repulsion by Roman Polanski. That is my white. White, long legs of Catherine Deneuve, white sink where she puts them to wet her ankles with the white foam.
When I step out from white I get into grey. In between I can see a photograph with two empty beer bottles on the floor by German artist Michael Riedel.
Berlin is grey. My feelings in Berlin are grey.
Grey is the colour of my footsteps on the pavement and the colour of my paths on Berlin facades. Grey is the colour of my growing disinterest, mild absence.
Grey are enlarged birds I’m keeping in a small resolution.
Grey is the hole in the wall. The hole in the asphalt. Like something undefined.
Like Catherine and me sitting in a living room with overexposed white windows while the sounds from outside are coming in.
Grey are the first four floors in the Hans-Otto-Strasse 32, while the last two are black because the lights are almost always off.
Black is when I stop on the stairs to get some air.
Black when I open the door, turn on the light from the evening lamp and step in the black room where the echoes of Bohren & der Club of Gore’s music can be heard.
Black when I pour the red wine in the long glass, looking at the china figurines and once again waiting to get back to white.