Who are we ?
W ho are we, or rather who am I? A passer-by ... It was fifteen years ago rue de Seine in Paris. Why did I turn my head that day? Fate ... The step that follows all the others. So a breast. The master had spoken. Modeled. Wesselman? Kacere? No, more powerful, Schlosser.
- Hello, what is the price of ... (its title was "to cry"), and there was something
- 28 000
Too expensive. The beautiful paintings are always "too expensive" ...
- You did not buy it, I hope! We are already in the red.
- No, don't worry.
I did not buy it but I slept badly ... this masterpiece at hand ... but no wallet, had upset my night; he had to remind me of memories, mom, "and not only"...
The next day, on the phone:
- Hello, I passed yesterday, you would do something on the painting of Schlosser?
- No sir, and then he is practically sold.
- Ah! Good luck then, thank you.
Second night without sleep, and then a third. A terrible lack. Like a loved one, already... And then...
- Hello? Am I bothering you ? Are you opening? Is it sold ?
- Hello sir, excuse me what are you talking about?
- The Schlosser...
- No, we are waiting for the final answer...
- I’m taking it... I'm coming... I'm taking it... It's for me... it's for me I'm telling you, I'm coming.
Who are we, or rather who am I? An artaholic who was left, a juggler yes "what's the use of the jack if you do not have the balls"... a tightrope walker but it makes a life over the art...
So let's share and cherish the art that throbs with the rhythm of Schlosser's desire and ours.
Another memory. It was 20 years ago this time. I was looking at a thousand-year-old olive tree. There again I could not afford to buy. I turned around, saw four other olive trees and heard a schizophrenic say, "How much for the five? ".
The price was "too expensive" but the seller said everything by saying - I will remember it all my life - "Hurt yourself Mr. Petitjean".
The olive trees grow today in a nice ground ..
In front of a Work of Art, in front of Combas, Pasqua, Gudmundur Erró ... “Hurt yourself" ... You will see, you will pick olives and will be happy, crying ...