Landscape of Memory
Dry pastel on monotype
2026, 30 × 35 cm
(My work)

Circumstances have brought it about that I must keep house more often, so I wash the dishes and the cutlery after using them. It’s a task, not a pleasant one for many, judging by the widespread use of dishwashers. I admit, though, that I like it very much.

I like devoting time to humble things and objects that, without complaint, serve human life despite their natural wear. And then there is something else.

It is a kind of time that allows you to touch things, to feel their texture, their structure, their very bodies through your hands. This tactile relationship with reality is a beautiful sensation.

I feel very earthly in those moments, and I like that a lot.I feel very earthly in those moments, and I like that a lot.

So, once the cutlery and the dishes are carefully cleaned with good soap made from olive oil, and thoroughly dried, I place them back in their “battle positions” so they can be used again and again.

And I imagine that such a thing would bring them joy, that they would thank me, if they had a soul and a voice.

For the joy of beings and things, I think, is nothing other than their function: their ability to exist in relation to life as a whole and to serve it, not to rest, “embalmed,” in display cases, gazing arrogantly at life with all it holds, good and bad.

I think it is the same with people.I think it is the same with people.

Many people are “cleaned” through various techniques, or remain “clean” from the beginning, untouched by life and by other “dirty” people, and they stand opposite them, judging, condemning, and punishing.

Many artists belong to this category of the “clean.”Many artists belong to this category of the “clean.”

And their cleanliness is nothing more than their inability to step outside themselves and connect with the many ordinary people. So they remain enclosed within themselves, seeking to stand apart, describing themselves, believing they are saying and doing great and important things, which, I think, are not functional things. They do not serve life; they serve themselves. They build their defenses, guarding their “clean” self.

I have experience with such people—and many such artists, between us.

I prefer the “cutlery people”: those who are always in position, ready to get “dirty,” to lose their polished shine, to mingle with the many ordinary “dirty” people, so they can serve the beautiful life of all.