He's just an artist, and he's on fire / Hotter than a fantasy, longer like a highway / He's living in the art world, and it's on fire / Feeling the catastrophe, but he knows he can fly away / Oh, he got both feet on the ground / And he's burning it down / Oh, he got her head in the clouds / And he's not backing down / Looks like an artist, but he's a flame / So bright, he can burn your eyes / Better look the other way / You can try but you'll never forget his name / He's on top of the world / Hottest of the hottest curators say / Everybody stands, as he goes by / Cause they can see the flame that's in his eyes / Watch him when he's lighting up the night / Nobody knows that he's a lonely artist / And it's a lonely art world / But he gon' let it burn, baby, burn, baby / This artist is on fire / This artist is on fire / He's walking on fire / This artist is on fire.

Next Friday, I'm going again to Helsinki. I've been invited to project at the Lens Politica Film and Media Art Festival two of my recent slide shows: Turbo Orientalism (Arab Street Hookers) which was premiered in June at All Art Now, Damascus, and Syrian Democracy that was made during the same trip to Syria.

Now I'm oiling my propaganda machine to tell the people, once again,  that the Syrian government is defending the secular and multicultural society against an Islamist rebellion backed the Gulf dictatorships and the Western democracies.

Today I've been chatting with my Damascene friend Abdullah (name changed).

Abdullah: Have you heard that the military council of the Free Syrian Army in Aleppo has forbidden women to drive?

Riiko: How is the daily life now in Damascus?

Abdullah: We try to live a normal life, like the days when you were here few months ago.

Riiko: Is there a lack of any consumer goods?

Abdullah: Everything is available but the prices are rising which is a big problem. The inflation has been up to 250%. Only bread costs the same as before - a government decree sets the price in 15SYP for a kilo. But can you imagine that the rebels send their supporters to buy lots of bread and destroy it? They are also stealing yeast from the bakeries trying to force the government to increase the price of bread.

Riiko: Do the kids go to school normally?

Abdullah: Most of the schools in the safe areas are open.

Riiko: Are you working like before?

Abdullah: I've lost my job, like almost a half of the people in the city. The economic activity is scarce.

Riiko: Has the presence of the armed forces increased in the streets of the city center?

Abdullah: The army has blocked some roads in the middle of the city to protect people from the suicide attacks of the rebels.

Riiko: Do the people look preoccupied in the streets?

Abdullah: Yes, we are worried but we still go to coffee shops like before. We do our best to enjoy the life but we talk often about the possibility of being attacked in any place, being killed by a bomb. We are trying to guess if we are going to die today or tomorrow.

There was no mistaking, even in the uncertain light, the hand, half crabbed, half generous, and wholly drunken, of the Consul Curator himself, the Greek e’s, the flying buttresses of d’s, the t’s like lonely wayside crosses save where they crucified an entire word.
Malcolm Lowry: Under the Volcano.

Tonight, a group show titled Under the Volcano opens at Andrómeda Contemporáneo in San José, Costa Rica. It includes my drawings and it's curated by Raúl Zamudio, which is not big news because it’s the 20th exhibition he organizes including my works since 2004. Raúl has showed my art in New York, Miami, Chicago, San Diego, Mexico City, Monterrey, Beijing, Shanghai, Yeosu, Madrid and Wroclaw.

Some may think that the gallerist is the essential factor for artist's visibility and career but I think that the relationship with a dedicated curator can be much more sincere, profound and, above all, durable. A curator doesn’t care if you sell or not, he is interested in the substance of the works. Working with Raúl is like living with my wife - we know each other so well that there is no need to speak a lot.

I wish I were in San José celebrating our 20 shows together and we could drink like the Consul: bottles of aguardiente, of anís, of jerez, of Highland Queen, the glasses, a babel of glasses (...), the glasses toppling and crashing, falling downhill from the Generalife Gardens, the bottles breaking, bottles of Oporto, tinto, blanco, bottles of Pernod, Oxygènée, absinthe, bottles smashing, bottles cast aside, falling with a thud on the ground in parks, under benches, beds, cinema seats, (...) glasses, glasses, glasses, of bitter, of Dubonnet, of Falstaff, Rye, Johnny Walker, Vieux Whiskey blanc Canadien, the apéritifs, the digestifs, the demis, the dobles, the noch ein Herr Obers, the et glas Araks, the tusen taks, the bottles, the bottles, the beautiful bottles of tequila, and the gourds, gourds, gourds, the millions of gourds of beautiful mescal... 

Dear gallerists (current, ex, future), we are never going to be friends because our collaboration is business and not romance. Anyways, we need each other and have common goals: to make good shows and sell works. Sometimes you might feel it’s an asymmetric relationship because an artist could show and sell without a dealer but a gallery can’t exist without artists. On the other hand, you have the power because there are millions of artists but only thousands of galleries – if you don’t like one of your artists, there are many other eager to occupy his place in your roster.

Dear gallerists, when we are selling, getting good critics and believe in the future, you take me to superb restaurants and fancy cocktail bars. You make me believe that I’m your favorite sweetheart and I don’t mind though I know that you whisper the same words to the ears of your other artists.

Dear gallerists, when our sales don’t meet the expectations, you become distant and forget me. I try to get your attention but you are absent. Finally, I have no other way than tell that if this continues like this, we are going to split up.

Dear gallerists, the only thing I ask you is to tell me clearly when you don’t want me anymore. Every story ends one day but a divorce can be handled with style. The art world is small and you don’t want your future sweethearts to hear nasty things about you. And please, don’t make excuses like “your art is not developing”. Tell me the things as they are – that you don’t know how to sell my works. I understand that selling (my works) is not easy. There’s nothing to be shamed about.

Last week I sent a message to my Berliner gallerist: I just visited your website and noticed that I'm still included in the list of the gallery artists. Last spring, I understood  that you are not enthusiastic about the way my works have been developing lately – that they are too political and not visually interesting. Did I get something wrong? Are we going to continue working together?

I didn’t receive any reply to the mail but the answer was clear today when I visited again the gallery's website: my name had disappeared.

Charlotte Gainsbourg sings something like these paintings that we paint, do they mean anything, to the people we're painting them to, tonight they do.

Yesterday, I received from England the best fan letter ever: (...) My 15-year-old autistic son has fallen in love with your art. He recently saw some of your work and was inspired by them (...). The package included a bunch of amazing drawings and a box of Terry's All Gold Dark chocolates.

That very same day, a dealer wired me thousands of euros, my share of a painting he had sold to a millionaire. That was gratifying too - but nothing compared to the fan letter.