Something out of nothing. It begins with silence, a blank page, an empty room. I make a noise, a line; I open a door, walk in. Mostly, it’s the sound, the mark, the gesture that is noticed. When it is followed by a second, a third, by many more than I can count or keep track of, it begins to take form. It invites interpretation. It acquires meaning. Sometimes, it becomes art. 

Nothing out of something. It begins with silence, a blank page, an empty room. I make a noise, a line; I open a door, walk in. Sometimes, what comes into focus is the silence, the sheet, the space. They gain definition by contrast with what has changed them. They become interesting, meaningful, as John Cage saw. 

Transforming absence into presence. Artists make a sound, a mark, a gesture to express themselves, to occupy the space and make it their own. It fades and disappears. Now, only conservators, technicians and philosophers will look for the space. Everyone else is focused in the music, the painting, the performance. The artist.

Transforming presence into absence. I try not to make much sound. I want to listen, but that does involve some talking first, like priming a pump. To spin plates, you have to begin the motion, but then it’s just an occasional gesture to keep the momentum. My goal is to be taken for granted, like the caretaker who prepares the room. I take care too, that the water keeps flowing, the plates keep spinning. If I am at the centre, it is not in the role of ringmaster but that of tent pole. I do not occupy the space, I open it. What matters then is how others fill it.