Part 23

The escape

Finally vacation, forget for a few days times the work, the whole thoughts to you, the argument with my nature, mean feelings, my life up to the insight, to take and become active finally the life again into the hand, there the financial problems in the gallery appear nearly insignificant, the fact, that my main sponsor wants to again orient itself now and I do not fit no more into its new concept and the emotional outbreaks than I Sarah, my right hand in marketing and in the direction of the project, to dismiss had. The present exhibition goes still 6 week, Marc Valentino, a rising artist from New York that it understands, to bring the composition of colours in agreement with the abstract objects on its pictures. And I am not nevertheless me for the first time into my long career safe, whether it not perhaps too innovatively, at far his time ahead is. Humans became tired, to follow the abstract one, their fantasies begin to diminish and it appear a trend to the representational art. Yes, I know, we have such phases in the art industry experienced and nevertheless already often seem it now different to be. Humans experience a faint in the virtual conception. They seem to lose the ability, to unite their fantasy and the reality of the everyday life in itself, to develop positive thoughts and feelings in whole spectrum of the pictures and diagrams, To understand art as means to the beautiful one. That make me sad and at the same time can I it understand, because I am sometimes not in the conditions, to recognize enriching. 

The rain sizzles against the disks of my car. I had so much the urge, to leave simply times Seattle, without a goal, without reservation and travel route. Thus I a few things loosely together packed and drove. For three hours I hear incessantly the monotonous noise of my windshield wiper. At the beginning of the journey I wore still the radio, but the storm and the tempest constantly disturbed the receipt, it makes me crazy enormously. I really did not progress, sometimes I had to hold even at the roadside, because my windshield wiper did not create it any longer, to provide me a clear view. In the last hours I smoked nearly box cigarettes, although I do actually only occasionally with parties. My stomach is empty and it became cold. The rain knocks a kind of music, incessant in the same rhythm, it becomes time, that I look for myself an accommodation, a small motel at the edge the Interstate 5, remotely and calmly. Portland is in the background of me and the road had no people or betters no cars. My feeling says to me, that before me an endlessly long road without any alternation lies.