Jacqueline

Sculpture
Wood, lasur
250x130x160cm

2024

I see her crying over her toast with butter and jam, it’s pouring out of her eyes, plop plop onto her breakfast. I ask her what’s wrong, and she gives me a shaky I don’t know, I don’t know, didn’t we butter your toast enough, madam, I don’t know, too many strawberries in your strawberry jam, I don’t know, not enough strawberries, I don’t know, you’d rather have quinces, but it’s her fist that she raises, now she knows very well; she wants me gone so I’m getting out of the way.

Her feet are as long as tinsel, maybe she’s angry at herself for having them so long.