… to tell the truth, we didn’t know each other – we had just exchanged a few words – we had met at some exhibitions – I always admired his drawings and paintings – I was confused by and excited by the incisive rawness of his drawing, the freedom in the study of the Masters, the gaze on the gaze of the Other, the gaze on himself – you would say to me: Let’s do something together, the two of us, and you carried on: when? and me: yes, we’ll have to get together – endless moments that went wrong, like not knowing what was needed, and what we might want even more from each other, besides what we continuously demonstrated in our different but so obsessive activities – I think that what our images imposed and expressed was clear to us – we spoke of the silence of the spaces or of their characters, of the movements of the body or of the repetition that becomes movement, of the spectator’s solitary gaze or of one’s strangeness when one sees what one sees – realities undone and remade on wide, clean sheets of paper.

 …in fact we will continue to know each other without knowing each other, we will await the other in their absence, we will uninterruptedly follow the sequences of images, the doubt always present in us…