Everything is always

way more complicated

then you can possibly


When I am writing this, I am sitting in my studio. Surrounded by unfinished works. The window is open, and I hear the sounds of the people who live around me. Besides the street noises, the news is heard from the radio. Another window to the outside world.  I look at the bookcase, which is filled with ideas on what reality is.

Outside and inside the walls of the studio, in-between, there I find the tension of which my work is all about.

Out there, is a world of “us against them”, of showing that you are right, and everything; “black and white”.
In here, the domain of doubt, of contemplating, and deliberation.

On the wall, inside, there is a big drawing. It is the one I'm currently working on.
The graphite is reflecting the sunlight.
This drawing might be a good symbol for the core of my work.  That once-white sheet of paper has become a complicated collection of every thinkable shade of grey that exists. The white is gone, and true black will never appear, due to the nature of the material.

While outside, the fighters of the  “absolute truth”, with their blunt swords, defend their cherished beliefs, I sharpen a pencil, to draw another line in a web of nuance.
Meanwhile, I think about ways, to get a little bit of this inside universe, out there, beyond the studio walls. To the place that becomes more and more in the grip of a new kind of pillarization. With pillars which are called bubbles now, or echo chambers. 

I think some more

I take a sip of coffee, which has turned cold by now.

Time for action!