Art is, for me, the attempt to escape societal and historical dictates, to free myself from the dross.
What remains when one has discarded all externally imposed constraints? The gaze falls into nothingness or into everything; it is all the same and indifferent when one has stopped listening to the ego. Just the term "the nothing" is outrageous; the smallest mistake would be to say: 1 kilo of bread.
There is an enclave for everyone, everywhere and always, and even death holds no terror. Who does not know this, and who has the courage to stand up and say: the emperor has no clothes, we are all naked? What is art, after all, but the more or less successful bluff about this nakedness? And still, in institutions such as Applied Arts or whatever they are called, a great mystery is evoked and danced around like a sacred cow.
For me, it is also uninteresting to engage in cerebral games at this point, to nestle into the art system as a know-it-all smirker. I want to do what I want to do, and to be judged for it is irrelevant. Kafka is everywhere, Viennese brother.
I want beauty, clarity, far-sightedness, and a lot of air. To represent, to depict, to transfer, to translate. Nothing else.
I hope that you can see and feel something of that.
This work is dedicated to Amy Wallin.
Thanks to the school for being there.
Cara, sister, Hans, and Hugo: thank you for the eyes. Love.
Love and passion to everyone who has helped me. Peace brother, friend, and lover.
Father, mother.
Next year in Jerusalem.
Vienna, 21. 2. 92