texts
He wasn't there when I asked him to be there.
When he eventually arrived, he hadn't prepared
the place yet, and I
had to wait on the corridor while he tidied up.
Due to the fact that his reputation in Canada is very good, I was simply too keen to see what this young guy was actually all about.
Before he left, he kidnapped his neighbour's radio
in order to place it on my working desk.
By the way, she was very friendly when she came over to take her radio back, shortly after he had left.
Since the work he wanted me to do turned out to be easy and just like an exercise to me, I was wondering why he had let me come to do this for him.
Later, when my wrists stopped hurting, I realized that this has just been another example of his undamaged and therefore
still innocent creativeness.
It was revealing to see how beautifully he combined his ideas
to a single, large sculptural network. I don't know exactly when
and how it happened, it must have been very fast, but I felt
altered afterwards. Relieved, happy? I was surely caught off
guard.
And here I am: In his debt, sworn to secrecy until
one of us will be able to leave this place again.
Martin's presence, which was ensured by his photographs,
his suit and his books, made me feel sorrowful and home
at once.
Maybe it was wrong to go this far, but once I had started
I couldn't stop myself anymore. I called a friend of mine
in order to find out when I had met Martin for the very last
time.
She pointed out that it has been - according to my notes-
1998 in Berlin. I thanked her not knowing yet what to do
with the information I had asked for.
Instead I asked Walsh to take a photograph of himself
standing on a lawn in Berlin. He stood alone in a felt
suit in the rear of the "Museum for Musical Instruments"
next to the "Philharmonie", on the other side of Serra's
rosty sculpture - behind him you anticipated a part of Martin's
last and unfinished work.
He stood alone in a felt suit in the rear of the
"Museum for Musical
Instruments" next to the "Philharmonie", on the other side of Serra's
rosty sculpture - behind him you anticipated a part of Martin's last
and unfinished work.
For a split second I imagined that the existence of this photograph
would be the only possible happy ending for us three.
Needless to say, there was no happy ending. But still-
there is Walsh
in his felt suit, standing all by himself on a lawn in Berlin.