“When we used the criterion whether the artwork lasts for the selection of the works for our spring exhibition, we had artists coming in who circled and struggled terribly. It was a horrible thing to witness. The works lasted much too long. There was no connection with reality. There was no connection with anything. There was no connection with Boston. See the little carriage driving around over there. That’s what I call art. It is a remote-controlled car that sucks coffee from the guests’ coffee cups and sprays it 20 meters into the ground. Do you want a winegum? ”
Mosher Gabi sweeps imaginary dust with an imaginary broom. Only the dustpan is real.
“3500 kroner ago there was a highway here.”
I eat the winegum curiously and hold Mosher Gabi while he leans a bit to one side.
