N.1 In the morning, make coffee. Run the dishwasher. Cook. Tidy up the kitchen. Pick up trash around the house. Vacuum up dog hair. Walking the dog, doing computer work, folding clothes. It’s a never-ending cycle of work without pay or thanks, day after day, second after second. In the afternoon, it’s more of the same: feeding the dog, cleaning the kitchen, doing the dishes, putting food in Tupperware, making lunches for school, helping with homework, going to the gym, walking the dog, watching the news, and sleeping. One year, two years, three years, four years, five years, six years, seven years, eight years, nine years, ten years, eleven years, twelve years, thirteen years, fourteen years, fifteen years, sixteen years. STOP. Time stands still; wrinkles grow. The children demand and get used to the service you offer, to obedience, and to unconditional love. Wake up! Open your eyes! Life is passing you by. The people around you are getting younger and more successful. Nothing changes except your body is aging. That’s how I ended up in Berlin after spending five years living on an island and devoted to domestic service. I was able to salvage something from all this time. While the children slept, I expressed my frustration by using my body as a tool in front of the camera. The photos were ironic, courageous, and audacious. My image symbolized the search for identity in an increasingly complex world. A world where wars become the norm, men become women, women become men, and young people no longer know who they are. Mass consumption is the meaning of life: buying and throwing away objects daily. Idols are those who have the least to say but much to entertain. In entertainment, we find ourselves. I look in the mirror and ask myself, “What am I waiting for?” Berlin, I’m going to conquer you. But first, I need to reconquer myself. I’ve lost myself for many years, caught up in cleaning and childish fights. That’s how I woke up at age 47. In Berlin. N.2 manana/ department/Interior My alarm clock rings with the melody, “Good morning, wake up, today will be sunny.” I make myself a coffee, sit down at the computer, and check the news. The first thing that pops up is: “Loss of Identity Through Motherhood.” How can being a mother cause you to lose your identity? Well, if that’s true, we’re all screwed because there are a lot of mothers in the world. It’s a real drama. I suppose there must be support groups for mothers trying to find their identity in this big city. So, I asked artificial intelligence. The result? Everything related to being a mother and losing your identity is connected to support groups for mothers and their children! it means, for mothers with young children, assuming that mothers with pubescent children have already overcome the challenges and found their identities again. That’s right; this is the age of mature women. Women who know what they want. They have endured their husbands and children for too long. They are strong and independent. Superwomen! In a way, I feel powerful, too. I’m irresistible and my own person. No one tells me how to do things anymore. But I still have so much to try out there in the outside world. So, the best approach I can take is to start with an experiment to see if I’m really this superhero who can withstand anything. But first, of course, I’m going to choose 20 galleries, 10 magazines, and newspapers to send my photos to and ask them to talk about my work. Like a little girl at an amusement park. That’s how I’m going to do things. Have fun, you little brat! Oh my God! I just opened the Berlin gallery guide, and the first gallery I see is looking for underrepresented artists exploring themes such as identity (Kang contemporary). Holy shit! I’m scared! What if they say yes? I’m going to write right now. In any case, what do I need? I have everything. I have a presentation book, I have a website, I have photos ready, I have text ready.This must be a sign from the universe! I’m going to make a list of the 20 galleries. When I reflect on the things I’ve done in my life that required a lot of courage, I realize that I didn’t take them so seriously, yet they turned out well. So why this and not that? Because I fell into the trap. I didn’t consciously choose this path. It led me there little by little, and it has been a constant internal struggle. I’ve killed Lady Kunst hundreds of times, only to dig her up and bring her back to life to kill her again.
N3.
When I reflect on the things I’ve done in my life that required a lot of courage, I realize that I didn’t take them so seriously, yet they turned out well. So why this and not that? Because I fell into the trap. I didn’t consciously choose this path. It led me there little by little, and it has been a constant internal struggle. I’ve killed Lady Kunst hundreds of times, only to dig her up and bring her back to life to kill her again.
Today, I truly feel that this is a complete waste of time. After all this time, I’m 47 years old and have made no progress in this area of my life. On the other hand, the art world is full of artists. It’s a crowded field of people all wanting to sell their work and be represented by galleries. I feel like just another grain of sand, wasting time and money. But if I don’t do what I love, what else can I do? Here, the question would be: What would I do if I didn’t need to make money? As if art were going to make you money! The question is poorly phrased because no matter what you want to do, you always need money to get started. I would probably do the same thing, but on a larger scale and with more passion and enthusiasm—like a child playing at being an artist! Wow, yes, that sounds liberating.
I’m tired because I haven’t been sleeping well for a few days. I guess it’s my body’s way of telling me that I’m entering perimenopause. It’s a sign that I have to hurry up and finish my work, but slowly so that I don’t make any mistakes. I have one more day to perfect my work before sending it off to be exhibited. I like to provoke and transgress. Sometimes I lose patience and hope, but there’s something inside me that refuses to give up: something strong and resilient. How much time do I have for this work today? I have many other things to attend to. I’m not going to cook today.
N4.
And the doubt always lingers: Should I continue with this? What if I’ve wasted twenty years of my life? For the first time, I’m starting to get tired of my marriage. It’s boring and uninspiring. I don’t want to do anything other than play. I like to play. Germany bores me. I need to start discovering exotic places and doing extraordinary things, otherwise I’ll be bored out of my mind. First, I’ll finish my photo series. Then, I’ll create adventures to go along with them. I’m going to have fun! I’m going to play before I end up in the grave.
N5.
Okay, I’m tired of looking at my pictures all the time. I’m sick and tired of having this project in my head for years without any progress. This year is the last one. If it doesn’t bear fruit, I’ll let it go and dedicate myself to something else. I like people, independent and creative projects, and the good life. I like adventure, travel, and wealth. Let’s be honest: No matter how good we are or how much we love the world, plants, and animals, we all want to have an incredible time, be recognized for what we like to do, and make a good living out of it! I’ve always dreamed of buying an incredible apartment in Paris and dedicating myself to art, writing, and charitable projects. It may sound superficial, but I think superficiality comes from within. How many people claim to be profound but are actually more superficial than the girl who buys brand-name shoes?
I was 47, searching for myself, tasting madness at parties, searching for freedom, studying this and that, traveling, putting up with meaningless men, educating children, washing dishes, cleaning floors, and taking photos of my emotions. Where does life take you when you choose a path outside the status quo?
N6.
Well, I haven’t written in two days because I was tired. I said, “Fuck this whole useless job.” But today, I believe in it again. I see it all as part of the “existential productive package” I’ve developed over the years.
Fuck it! Throw it in the air before it rots!
Sometimes it seems ridiculous to me to be promoting one’s own work, what are the measures to say that people like your work. I mean how can it be that the impressionists were the mockery of the academy and then became applauded by everyone.
You have to constantly struggle with keeping your self-esteem high. High, higher, higher! go out of your limits and try more and more! and the more you try the further you will go, even if it hurts.
N7
What is the purpose of contemporary art? Much of it is pure trash—separate elements attempting to create a meaningless narrative. Yesterday, we visited tan art faire where ninety percent of the art was trash. Who decides what art is? A museum? What are the criteria for being accepted into a museum, and why are they important? Who is behind these institutions, and what power do they have to decide who moves forward into art history and who is left behind?
strength and courage, end up dying. I can hardly believe that one lives once and there is so little creativity, no one dares to do anything and everyone walks around like zombies full of fears.
The civilisation in which I grew up was a kind of prison of freedom, where everyone was a guarantor. The bars of this prison were defined by white Catholic men. They also had their own guarantors: their wives. Anyone who didn’t follow in their footsteps was exiled to a life of criticism. That’s where I grew up, and that was the future of that hard-to-digest emotion when I was 13. Rebelling against imposed values that don’t allow you to choose what you think, feel, are, want to go or become. The values of that society were split between enduring the torture of being like everyone else and exile to a world of criticism. Somebody had to embrace that disillusionment, and somebody had to become that different girl, exiled from civic society. Surrounded by drug-addicted men, narcissistic artists with delusions of narcos, and myself looking for adventure and danger, that was the price to pay for seeking self-definition.
N8
When is there time for creativity? I wake up with boundless creative energy, only to be met with “Mom, take me to school,” “Honey, make me a coffee,” “Write emails,” “Book and organize the vacation,” “Do the online grocery shopping.” Bring something to my husband’s office that he forgot. It’s 1:23 p.m. and I’m just about to start writing. I got up at 7 a.m.! Well, yesterday I was listening to an audio recording about feminism. Why is that? There is a truth in all that theory, and it’s called frustration. I think the first ones to destroy the world of women are women themselves. What the hell do they have against being a traditional woman who wants to take care of her family and her children? Why were these women so judged and criticized? Especially Simone de Beauvoir. She seems like a very bitter woman to me. I don’t dispute her contribution to the development of women’s freedoms, but did she ever question whether happy women in traditional roles exist?
N9
It seems that every day I am closer to my work, to feel what I do and to see what it is and implies in the universe. I have a potentializing energy that wants to grow and do and go out and try. Move, move, move, move. Finally today we booked flights to South Korea and Japan I can’t believe my eyes! I’m going to Asia! and I’ll take my masks with me or buy new ones there. I need to work more, take more pictures. Right now I am going to print my marketing plan that Chat gtp created for me.
N10 23.7.25
The feminist world in theory. This is my discovery after so many years of working for the family. I have to say that some of my husband’s comments have led me to transgress my own will to be present for the family without any work outside this sphere. If I were president, I would make everyone in society pay a salary to the women or men who take care of their children; a decent and lasting salary, not just 3 years as it exists in Germany.
N12 Frankenstein: 26.02.2026
The desperation of coming into life loved and being despised by those around you. The illusion of creating something great for humanity, only for that creation to end up killing you. That is Frankenstein.
Lady Kunst wakes up. Today something is different. She knows that life will never be what it was and that everything around her is nothing more than an illusion.
She decides to test the waters and takes the first seemingly senseless initiative. She sends a postcard to all the cultural and artistic centers with a cover letter.
Life hits you without warning. One day you think you’re Superwoman, and the next you’re a used mop.
Yes, it hits you where it hurts the most to humiliate you and then make you more empathetic to the pain of others.
That’s how I’ve felt, but who cares if not me?
Could it be that I’m not alone in a world of ghosts consuming goods of happiness?
Knock knock knock!
Let me into your mind. Consume me. Do you like what you see?
I am part of you.