It is 1:30 AM. I cannot sleep. I am reading the last few pages of this diary and making some corrections. My mind keeps skipping to the studio. I remain uncertain although what I am presently coming up with should carry an unquestionable enthusiasm. I am not kidding when I point to the fatigue of age.

The transparency afforded by the now open clerestory indeed has extended the field of possibilities. This gesture of cutting open the white surface of an architectural drawing is highly symbolic and dramatically real. So much so that I feel dizzy with liberating imaginings! It would take a third artist. Gwylène and I are not sufficient anymore! It could have been Morgan but she chose to cancel us! Too much extra creative energy would be needed from her, I bet! But you know what? The real sadness I carry is due to the fact that she saw our collaboration as extra work. Too bad. But I partly fault myself for this. I gave her – and the other young folks in the collective – Victoria and Rayn – so much credit and I was so blinded by the joy of our intergenerationality that I forgot precisely the importance of reciprocity in our relationships. They had been given credit.

The return I expected never fully materialized. And I let go. Which, in itself, is a good thing! I should not have been so ‘colonial’ as to expect an unchallenged return. Yet, isn’t the question whether there is still value in elders’ knowledge? Of course not. There is value, even in these times of absolute changes and cancel culture. But history works both ways too. We bring new generations our good and our bad. The young are still in a digestive period. They will bear their good and their bad along with ours, sort them out and pass on! What keeps us tied together through thick and thin though is the forever enzyme of responsibility, instant and unescapable.