The Artist’s House
I shuffled a bit the notebook I filled this winter. A small, bluish, striped notebook… It’s written “dream and explore” on it, with transparent clouds underneath, covered with stars. I have a small storage room at home. Inside, hundreds of such notebooks, written, drawn, filled, semi-filled, one on top of the other; awaiting to be sorted, selected, cleaned out. It deeply annoys me; sometimes I want to destroy the entire house, all my creations at once, and step into an empty home. I don’t do it; I will soon turn that empty house into this one with other texts, drawings and paintings. It will be no different than this one. I wonder if this is another kind of hoarding… I don’t collect paper bags or newspapers but I collect my own works and creations.
Mom and grandma used to cite a lot of expressions. When I was little, I never could understand the metaphoric meaning of these expressions, and thus I made up new meanings for them. I even became angry when talked to as such. As if these expressions solved our problems. The problem persists; but well done, we have found the appropriate expression for it!
My mother often says: “You close the door, the treshold remains inside”. We keep our tail upright outside; no matter if we explode inside! If you ask me, the inner treshold should be strong instead, so that you can close the door properly. If the inner treshold has exploded, I don’t care what the ones outside would think… Anyhow, what I want to tell is something else; I got mad over this expression thing again. As I make it up and reinterpret it, for me, the treshold inside when I close the door is my personal kingdom, the truth that I live inside a castle. My castle is eighty meters-square… Inside it, rooms, rooms, secret rooms, tunnels, libraries, workshops, kitchens, closets, underground cellars; anything you look for, let’s also add the ghosts, the monsters, various doors opening to various dimensions and planets. I live in a fantastic house, I mean. It only has one problem; it doesn’t work when you try to fit all these things into eighty meters-square. On top of that, my workshop is in my house too, as well as my storage. Every year I move into this humble castle of mine, books don’t fit in closets or under beds. Paintings go on top of each other, in the closets, everywhere, on the walls… Notebooks a pile, pile pile… I feel like throwing them all away, but in truth, what I want to do more is to build a museum. I want to live and work in a waste space… This is my wish…