A couple of years later, I was in my second year of university, I lived in a huge building, the formerly Rijks clothing stockrooms. My room measured 8 by 25 meters and it had no water, electricity or heating. On cold winter days, the other tenants used to build huge bonfires in their spaces. And we were waiting in line in front of the one and only tab bare naked to thoroughly wash ourselves. All went well. All went in their own way.
I use lots of paint but my ‘technic’ is from outer space, my white oilpaint colors from beige to yellow. Or my colored oilpaint shrivels during time because it was too much on top of each other. The good news however is that this is a technic on its own. This I heard only a few days ago from a fellow artist with a lot of oilpaint experience and a master of technic. Sometimes I feel lucky.
Every day I ate the cheapest PCD peanut butter sandwiches dripping of oil and only thinking about the Gesammtkunstwerk I needed to make with my closest friend and the ant that walked discreetly past my plate with the peanut butter sandwich. My friend walked out of the film into my megalomaniac room wearing a linen kaftan and a turban, painted his Berber tent and went to sleep under it. It was very hot. The audience stayed away.
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