Lighthearted ease, nonsensical abundance, and the defiant fickleness of a longing person who doesn’t know why or what he’s longing for. A longing that stings like “the first cut” – that, unprocessed – unchewed – can never be swallowed unavenged, nor hastily flushed down, always finds its way back in times of flaring flashpoints. The decadence, the luxury (adorned with borrowed plumes), the (extra) loud laughter – behind all this the longing – have faded away in the hungover light of the past party night of a “Holly Golightly” á la “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”. Relics, directly represented with colors, forms, tastes, and objects drift literally as remnants and demonstrations at the place of compensated longing like a message in a bottle in the open sea, which wants to be found – to be read.