Making a film, for example, has nothing to do with making a sculpture. Why do I make this distinction? Do I know what a sculpture is? And in times of fundamental crisis and change, is the question even relevant? Do we need to ask if something is sculptural, or how a sculpture is created?
I am preoccupied with these questions, and think about them constantly. It never ceases to surprise me, therefore, that other people don’t seem to think about them at all.
Take last year, at a bar. The waitress approached her customers with great reservation. Whenever she came near, her face and body remained still, despite the barely perceptible backward gesture of her shoulder. Without a glimmer of understanding the order, she turned. I was fascinated by her detachment, and how she was able to establish her own personal space in such a crowded room. This austere choreography of approach and retreat was conducted in a single movement, and all the while she remained her unique, mysterious self. A picture of somebody fishing sprang to mind. The line was cast and pulled back, before it had even touched the water. As if somebody was obviously fishing for something, which I could never see or come even close to be able to explain.
Gent, October 2015