A third floor text. At the time of making the floor texts, I did not consider them to be drawings. They were texts; words written on the floor in sentences, even though those sentences were almost unintelligible, overwritten, erased and fragmented as they were. Now, at a distance of almost twenty years, I am able to understand them as drawings, and to accept the polaroids of them as images in their own right, not just as documentation of an event.
At a period in my life when I am desperately unsure of how to proceed, and distrust my work as an artist so profoundly, it is helpful to look on the polaroids again, to experience them much as I did at the time of their making.