Jo Loui Borup

Dearest Nomi

These days of scarcity has me craving opulence.
I will savor this spring exhibition of chaos and mayhem.
I am very very very very mad because like Solange sang, I got a lot to be mad about.
I wanted to paint your portrait but I have never seen your face.
I made my way downwards, a force from the underground keeps pulling on my feet.
That is the angels.
Trotzig wrote: Ansiktet / finns / finns inte.
You, Nomi, asked: If they saw my face — will they know me — Nomi — know me, now?
I vow to be unfathomable. I vow to not be nonchalant.
I am not suggestive spirituality without religion. I am not a gesture reduced to „essence“ – release me!!! from nauseating minimalism! Samson’s power sat in his long hair.

The church bells moan a warning.
Welcome to the opera.