I saw a beautiful show at Paula Cooper. Peter Campus might have investigated the gap between the variety of forms nature creates and the aesthetic of digital retouch. Insects, plants and text are main elements in his compositions that are very beautiful. It is strange what the obvious retouch and composing procedure of the computer does to the "paintings" or collages and the well known creations of plants. They seem to be strange elements carved together into a nonexistent room, but they remain astonishingly flat and cold. Although he is virtuous in composition, multilayered in his expressions for some reason these pictures leave you completely outside, maybe because of their cooling perfectionism and the technological purity that these images radiate. For some reason you remain thinking: nicely done, perfectly composed which leads away from the content and locks you out from the real depth that one could reach within this gap.

Another show I was rather impressed by was the Clark exhibition of Kids from his research for the film. These kids, watching you within the frame of their color picture, are very present and seem amazingly open to their photographer. They look mostly strait into the camera, sometimes the eyes seem sad and very grown up. Not a children's glance anymore, there is this innocent sadness of today's worries very visibly remaining - an almost resigned outlook, a perspective into today's future?

I met A.C. yesterday to talk about the art faire in Buenos Aires and what I'll be showing. So most of my worries have found a good solution and I should be happy. In March and September I leave for Japan, which used to be one of my big dreams, because I really hoped people there could relate to my work. I am looking forward to this and am happy that it finally happened so surprisingly without any effort from my side, besides my usual work and exhibitions. So easy, like a bird sitting at the window knocking and you watch it, it just came by to say hello you're lucky to watch it. But I strangely feel as if the birds had left to a warmer country that I can't reach with my wings. Maybe it's the transitoriness of luck that I am afraid of.