Sheila de la CAL PÉREZ (ES), pa/RADIS


- I am a Wait-And-See believer -

I got an idea.
Then an other, andtheoneaftertheotherjustbeforehavingoneagain.
Tired of that storm strongly uncomforting my will to pausing my brain - this ashtray filled with metasmoke - I went on strike. Proud, I poured myself an other bowl of coffee and, my mind made up, I stubbed out the butt which was starting to burn my fingers, just for the fun of lightning an other fag.

Then I waited, first on a chair, then on the sofa… on the pavement, laid, on the grass, into the arms of the one I loved, planting onions, in the waiting room and in the line at the bakery, and even worse, in line for the ATM, and in tobacco shops and liquor stores, with patience, without impatience, with the nerves, on counters, on the bus, the chin laying on the back of the right hand, smiling, studying German, eyes wet, in the shower, Chez Rosa, pulling out hairs, in bars, in Saint Léonard’s park, laying down like a starfish, doing somersaults, along the Meuse, hear sticked to the cellphone, hoping for a letter from the police, from my mother, a death declaration, from a lover, or a faraway friend, under the sun, next to the heater…
… I would have expected that paradise, I would have seen it cracking like a storm, I waited for it impending like a revelation, I dreamed it big, bright, impossible to squander.
And I’m still dreaming it that way, when I open my eyes, a sad radish establishes itself before my disappointed gaze - I’m quite sure I’ve bought and put it there, but I don’t remember, probably I was really focused on furnishing my « paradise » - I enjoy radishes, understand me… they’re not only good for their taste and healthy, but they’re beautiful to watch… what a shame the effective awkwardness of this radish, it establishes itself there on the appointment in which I’m as always waiting the paradise…

Reflection is inversely proportional to action, we know that : « two schmucks will always go further than two intellectuals around a table ».
My art is the art of the lazy-made, I’m an honest fraud in art. If conceptual art emphasizes the idea upon the material reality of an artwork, I can define myself as an extreme conceptual artist, born-expired ideas overflow, become invisible in their lack of being, which is their reason to live.

Sheila de la Cal Pérez, Extract from Métacognitions infructueuses.