Back in England, with the rain, the muffins, and the trains.

I hate the way I run my mornings - sitting around, waiting for the day to happen.

I think we live in the midst of a shortage of real art. I need art that is unpretentious, open-minded, modest, and shy. I don't even know if art like that exists anymore, or if it even ever did. Art walks around the high streets with top hats, and monocles, and speaks using long words and complicated sentences. Art stands on the bartops and orders free beer for everyone. And I want it tucked into my palm, shivering, and uncertain. I want to soothe it, to protect it, rather than feel it stare down at me with a mixture of pride and contempt. Art intimidates me.



Copyright: Albert Laloy