A never ending process one MUST go through in the 21st Century. Afraid of the Digital Dark Age? Or World Wide War? And everything getting lost? Afraid to loose your shit? Afraid of Missing Out? Loosing your phone all the time, praying to your hard drive to breath again? First you curse your laptop like a bitch when it slows down and now you’re on your knees begging for forgiveness when it blacks out from the daily abuse? Piles of mails in the backyard of your virtual graveyard… Finding systems and routines to not get lost in the Physical Streets without loosing battery life - meanwhile you biting in an apple that is too soggy for your broke but bourgeois tastebuds. It’s not easy and the multitude is trembling, the floor is swept away and you find yourself suddenly with empty hands. What a relief. But… it’s moment of peace that doesn’t stick around. Instead a ravage of lines peaks through your forehead and shatters right in front of your eyes… You are having heavy diarrhea on your desk and are about to vomit at the same time… Confused about what to wipe first. How did you end up here from just cleaning up your room? When does hoarding become unhealthy? You will know soon when your children tell you to get rid of your crap. You being an artist will not for ever be an excuse to postpone treating your compulsive behaviour and taking flowerpots home from the streets. It’s time to admit you’re a scared arsehole, uptight from constipation; cramped circular muscle of thoughts…
In between pages are the phone numbers and the names of yet to discover things and lined up are drawn streets replacing the out of data phone, and a lot of to do lists - they fucking never end. Predominantly are notes taken during meetings and along them doodles and side roads of boredom (doodling enhances concentration). Dismissed and teared up are grocery lists as they had been taken out to the other side of the world…
and #goals #for #thefuture
Issa house for me and neighbouring mind maps - layers & rhizomes - sometimes related and talking with each other

There is no fear in the sketchbook, and the uncouscious feels at ease here, there is no pressure of being beautiful. Finally here you are allowed to be yourself, and you know, you don’t have to show everything, you just read out loud what you feel good about.


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