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Accetto Chudi

Sweet Dreams

by Matteo F.M. Sommaruga

When I wake up I usually roll peacefully in my bed. I seldom had such sweet dreams before, for so many nights in a row.  It’s like to qualify first for the Grand Prix, week after week, being praised like a champion and indeed mathematically winning the world title. Perhaps the cover is quite smelly since, in the capitalist world, you have got to do it everything by yourself. Mothers and girlfriends, even if they were present, wouldn’t take care of your domestic inconveniences. They have got their own life and goals, and if they still like to share with you a considerable amount of the day, it’s just to do something interesting together. Not to serve. Nobody serves here, everybody are simply paid for what they do and if they need more money have just to find out a way to obtain it. Still abiding to the law. I am not already so skilled with that task, therefore I can’t afford the intervention of an housekeeper and I have got to be ingenious to manage my domestic duties without wasting too much time either. However, although my bed is not provided of fresh and well ironed sheets on daily basis, I enjoy the privilege of wonderful onirical visions.

I follow the borders of the wall, lines are so clear and well defined. The geometric shapes that since centuries create buildings and mansions represent so well the logical mind of the man. Together with the fantasies from the night and the brightness of the day early in the morning, when it better works for most of human beings, is it possible to forge the most beautiful artifacts just assembling few simple bricks. It is like a Lego game, and we have been living such a reality since the dawn of civilization.  No wonder that even movie and videogame industry are exploiting those small pieces so wisely.

On the walls are also hanging my investments. Sketches on paper whose value is even higher, but less inconsistent, than the certificates I have got to buy from my personal home banker in order to safeguard my future. Close friends relatives are not those kind of people you can’t count anymore on. I have also abandoned, burning all the bridges behind me, the few small pillars of social security I could have relied to under the uttermost circumstances. My choice does not admit any compromise and I have to resolve for a well defined cut with any kind of advantage I previously profited from.

There is no ethical issue by profiting from art handling and trading. As every product of intellectual capital deserves to be put on the market. The production process of an artwork is also one extremely convenient if the cost of raw materials and energy employed  in proportion to the worth of the output are taking in account. Moreover only a considerate mind of a careful and methodical investor is able to exploit at the best the result of the chaotic efforts of an artist, thus masterly combining different and opposing skills for the improvement of the conjunctural economy.

Also time is money, and I could afford to spend half an hour lingering on such non sense, providing a proper budget to quit the daily life and enjoy an illogical diversion to well ordered thoughts and duties. With a huge difference from those artists who had to take refuge to an imaginary world as the only feasible solution to escape horrors and misery, since I have never dreamt for a better situation than my current one. It is just a natural need to continuously look from  something different than what stands around. It’s a dynamic though, as the russian mountains of the stock exchange charts.

social social social print

On the other side of Berlin Wall

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