Rinus van de Velde
The sweater I wear for work is an imprint of everything I have ever made. No: it’s the blur of all my works blended together, a chaos of the smeared residues, the useless matter that didn’t stick to the canvas. Being part of my daily routine, I had never really noticed it, but one day, while I was daydreaming in front of the mirror and accidentally lowered my gaze, it caught my wandering mind. There it was, my artist’s uniform, separated from me, headless, a materialization of everything I didn’t need, a map of that strange, cold, dark and hard moon that revolved around my the homely planet of myself. I shook my head, literally shook the unpleasant thought out of it, and made a decision. I turned away from the mirror and made a drawing of the damned thing
