Text Portrait of the Artist :
A silent conversation with a nameless artist,
That lived in an ‘cut and paste’ apartment,
Rented on a nomadic planet.
He was observing faraway worlds
In the studio
Creating rituals through dissolving elements.
To write stories –
As we were talking -
The streets grew emptier,
The shadow on his face kept silent.
Storm was finally coming.
And continued to work.
As we were watching the sky –
The clouds made it darker
My eyes getting tired.
After another silence or two,
A coffeepot and ten or thousands of cups
I dozed off for a while.
P.s. I hope the artist will not find out I wrote this poem about him. He doesn’t like that much to be in the center of attention. If you are ever in luck to meet him - please try to find out why he is writing his texts in red only (he won’t tell me why). If you will try to find him – try looking in the empty night streets of Rotterdam (or any other city) as he likes wandering at night. There is a very big chance he will see you first (or perhaps already did), and before you know it – a short story will be written, and/or a movie will be made based on his observations.