Dear Luis Camnitzer,

I spent months sending you faxes,
because faxes would be the only means to contact you.
So I faxed and faxed and faxed.
Persistant, almost intrusive.

And I wonder where my faxes went – but surely it wasn’t you.
The gallery then opened their doors for meeting you.

White, clean, controlled space and you, severe, attentive yet distant.
Oh yes, you said, 25 years ago you would have done these things, but now …

These things. But now.

Even way more than 25 years ago it was you exploring the means of printmaking, and thus, of meaning.
Experimenting with ambivalence.
What can meaning mean? Not even speaking of significance.
And then I saw the twinkle and I recognized the spurs of humour and endurance.
You outline humour in woe and poetry in shame.
Not many dare and even less can do … these things.

The same night you sent me the sketches for Symmetrical Jails.
I am deeply grateful for these things,
those things you never stopped doing.

I bow to you, humble,
yes! and I thank you: