incidentality ( a poem of sorts)

substance lies in the things we leave behind

it seeps through the cracks of reality

we scratch away at the surface, we peel

the paint and then paint again, paint

seeping under the sideboards

adding layers

cutting corners

the new gleem adds no depth

only highlights the substance that was
another surface

we need more violence in our approach
cutting deeper into the material
or we'll perish floating

leaving only dragmarks

an end of sorts

(photos taken at muhka, antwerp on dec 29th 2011
of incidental works left behind
by an unknown collection of artists, hitherto unnoticed,
revealed here and put to words with
one original work at the center,
imagine artguard arguing loudly on his mobile)