i've been in Hamburg for about a week now, mainly to visit my mother. this time, it meant caring for her while she was admitted to the hospital. my thoughts have been almost entirely with her. there's little space for anything else. sometimes, even when i'm alone, her face appears before my eyes.
i usually come to Hamburg once a year, and that's when i see her. then, she follows closely what i do—who i meet, which friends i see. she meticulously enters it in her calendar. it gives her a sense of satisfaction. but she doesn't know that these meetings with friends are a gift to me, a way to breathe, to reconnect with myself.
once she said she's always seen me as a part of herself, never as an independent person. that admission chilled me. it explained so much. i find myself disappointed that we can't truly understand each other—or at least not through words. her world, her life, her views feel too far from mine. i try to explain, but she just gets tired. occasionally, there's a flicker, a small glimpse of understanding—but it passes quickly. i've been slipping back into old times too much. memories surface without warning. my life in Africa seems too far away.
i'm staying in a hotel, paid for by her, and i'm thankful for that. there's a TV in the room. the first time i stayed here, four years ago, i was horrified at the limited selection—only German channels. only German speaking, most of them shows, and a lot advertisements.
last tuesday, by chance, just before visiting her, i came across Judgment at Nuremberg (1961) on ARTE. a dramatisation of the post-war trials. when i tuned in, the focus was on forced sterilisation. it gripped me, but i had to go. too bad vibes when i am late, so i try to be punctual. when i arrived at her place, i asked if she knew it. "A difficult one," she replied. she had seen it.
she offered me to continue watching it. the film reached a grim scene: a British documentary shown during the trial, depicting the liberation of a concentration camp. corpses being shoveled into mass graves. then the images shifted—boxes filled with jewelry, watches, eyeglasses, wedding rings. mountains of it. then a tray—gold teeth removed from the mouths of murdered Jews.
what a terrible history.
it's been a while since i've dealt with this topic. but now it's catching up with me. i try to talk about it, but nobody wants to hear about it. my mother says, 'Why do you have to keep bringing it up? It was so long ago." to me it seems like it just happened.
the weather is dreadful: cold, rainy, bleak. days are strangely long.
Monday, June 2
THE POWER OF ART MC Art Matters with Koyo Kouoh
Wednesday, 28
That's how it's been, at least recently. I pick up a book, and after reading it for a while, a connection to my current life arises. It's 100 percent clear that this is just a coincidence. It can't have been anything other than chance or an inexplicable intuition that led me to this book, without knowing that I'd find things there that fit my life.
Tuesday, 27
it's 9:30 p.m. and still bright daylight. i'm not used to it. but it's somehow okay; i stay awake longer. imagine, tomorrow is already my last day in Paris. what a pity.
haven't quite settled in yet, and already have to leave again. was getting better at finding my way around though. sometimes it happened that i intuively went in a certain direction and suddenly thought, no, i'm not right here, and turned back. and yet i was right with my intuition. ten years ago, i was in Belleville, somewhere completely different, and then the very last time, not far from here, on the other side of the Bastille next to the Seine, at Pont Austerlitz.
i had planned to do the gallery tour today.
luckily, they don't open until 11 a.m., so i had time in the morning. i still felt exhausted from all the walking yesterday. on the parisgallerymaps website, i tried to figure out where the galleries are clustered. i was most interested in Steve McQueen, who will have a show at Schaulager in Basel as well. i started there—the Marian Goodman Gallery. métro to Rambuteau. the métro is the most relaxing place. on the streets it seems like rush hour 24/7. by the way, you have to be extremely careful not to get hit by an electric bike; even cars are less stressful in comparison. McQueen's exhibition consisted of photographs of flowers. simple. i enjoyed it. i'm actually a fan. i think i am. Photography was forbidden, but i had already taken one, before i read it.
all the other galleries didn't interest me that much. i dragged myself there and then desperately felt for a break, for somewhere to have lunch. i sort of walked through groups. it's kind of special anyway. you walk down the street and see people eating. everything is very open. also the dresscode is. oh dear, when i think about i'm sorry that i have to leave so soon. this busy life is exciting. there's so much to go and do. and here in the city center, too many shops, supermarkets on every corner. so many things. when you have a desire for something, that desire dissolves. here and then, i stand in front of a shelf for a long time before deciding on something. in fact, i've seen others do the same. the oversupply makes it difficult. but everyone seems to know this and is taking their time. you are practically going with the flow. everybody is going with the flow.
well, maybe some not.
while looking for lunch, i saw a menu written on a blackboard. everything was with meat and was expensive. only one was labeled: "Riz avec coco." i thought of rice with coconut sauce. i asked if they had any of that left, and she asked what i would like for main course, because it was dessert. i was taken aback and she demonstratively looked at her watch. so i moved on. actually i was in the mood for noodle soup. when i saw an interesting Chinese restaurant, i read the menu attached to the window while a few people stood there chatting. i went inside; it was full. only one seat at a table was left. a man sitting there who i had asked if it was free said: allez y. i sat down, but no one paid any attention to me. then i saw the people standing outside and realized they were waiting for a table to become available. finally, i sat down in some café, ordered a cappuccino, and a vegetarian Croque-Monsieur. what made me smile. how long has it been since i heard about this French toast.
Monday, 26
now i’m in paris.
i arrived on saturday and, naturally, the first thing i did was walk through the neighborhood to get my bearings. and of course i know it well—the Marais—but it still took me a while to recognize it. i passed Cité (Internatiole des Arts); nohing much has changed there. i had hoped to look inside the corridors, but wasn't allowed to get in. the security guards didn't understand my intention to revive the memory. but at least they handed me out a bag of the 60 years' celebration.
Rue Rivoli was packed. the crowds of tourists i had to wind my way through were unbelievable.
sunday brought the highlight: Paris noir, a beautiful exhibition at the Centre Pompidou.
today i just walked. for hours. after yoga in the 16th arrondissement, i went from the Arc de Triomphe down the Champs Elysées, past Palais Tokyo, Place de la Concorde, and through the Tuileries. the Jeu de Paume was, of course, closed—it’s monday.
at some point i remebered the first time in paris, in 1977. Boul Mich, as it was called then. i adored the Quartier Laitin back in those days—but also Pigalle and Les Halles, which was indeed a market then.
at the Arts & Métiers métro station, i filled up my ratp card—just enough to be sure i’ll have one last ride on thursday, when i leave from gare du nord for hamburg. there is not much time here. most of it is going to my mom—and art basel.
at Cluny—La Sorbonne i realised how tired i already was. but taking the métro didn't make sense, no direct connection to Bastille. a slow walk back home. my lips were dry from constantly chasing time.
Friday, 23
not in the mood, yet i must go
i am not in the mood to roam
and yet i must depart
everything is planned, reserved
set into motion with care
and so much to look forward to
the joy of reunions
friends and family
beautiful exhibitions
and then Paris
a city i've longed for
but still my heart grows heavy
leaving is hard
leaving the ones i love and know
my home my studio
as well as my walks
those quiet paths
where thoughts wander freely
and i feel most myself
though
i know
this journey will bring me energy
the spark i need
which i'll carry back with me
to make more steps
to keep creating
to keep becoming
to keep loving life
let me not dwell in sorrow
but meet the journey with courage
step out with joy
and trust in the return
Loyalty Doesn't Pay
i'm talking about our website provider — the one hosting MALOLA, which we launched 25 years ago.
we stayed loyal, even when the original company was bought out and things got complicated. over time, without asking, they shifted our small 2 GB site to their largest hosting package. No choice between S, M, or L — just L.
the price rose slowly but clearly. when i asked why, the answer was: rising labor, infrastructure, and security costs. we were told we could downgrade, but at the risk of data loss — no real guarantees, no real help. so we stayed, now paying nearly four times too much for MALOLA and Tintinto, who could be in one package size s together.
then came the next blow: update PHP or face a monthly fee higher than our current (oversized) package. we don't even use PHP.
every time i contact support, it feels like they're defending their system, not helping me.
let's see what happens. maybe soon MALOLA will vanish from the web.
i tell you, these things wear me down.
Thursday, 15
LET THE SILENCE EXIST
i am no longer
twisting myself
into knots
to reach someone
who won't reach back
if you won't open up
i won't force it
but i also won't
make myself small
not filling the space
with my thoughts
or soften
or even apologising
for something
i didn't do
instead protecting my space:
my energy my rhythm
my creativity
my peace
Saturday, 10
Koyo Kouoh
i took this photo at Art Basel Conversations ten years ago. It was too long ago to remember details, but what Koyo Kouoh said was very inspiring concerning my idea to build an art center. The condition report of 2013 Symposium on Building Art Institutions in Africa, which she edited, had a major impact on me.
i was always happy when i had the opportunity to see her, either at a Dak'art opening or at her Raw Material Company in Dakar and finally through her deeply resonant exhibition When We See Us in Basel.
We never spoke to each other, but i always had the feeling that she noticed me. i was thrilled when she was appointed curator for the 61st Biennale in Venice scheduled to open in April 2026. The unveiling of the exhibition's title was planned for May 20. i was already on tenterhocks to hear about it.
Born in Douala, Cameroon, in 1967, Kouoh's career spanned continents and decades. Since 2019 she led Zeitz MOCCA in Cape Town. Her curatorial voice, her commitment to African and diasporic stories, her courage to build up new platforms, made her a central figure within the art world. She reminded us of thinking about how African artists create to remember, heal and rebuild, and that their practice is often political, because their very existence is a resistence. She not only worked to exhibit art, but also to form structures in which complex stories could be held and heard.
Kouoh was also committed to fostering art scenes within Africa, most notably within Senegal. In 2008, she founded RAW Material Company in Dakar, an independent art center that is now considered one of the top art spaces within West Africa.
“I wanted to really reflect on art, on artistic practice, and to contribute to the understanding of artistic practice as its own system of thought and as a mechanism for participating in visual culture, society, politics,” she told Artforum in 2016, describing her choice to open RAW Material Company. “I wanted to think of it as a means for proposing, speculating, investigating, exploring, experimenting. As a curator, I’m interested in critical artistic practices and how they play out in society, particularly societies like ours. I believe that context defines pretty much everything that we do.”
Koyo Kouoh, Curator of 2026 Venice Biennale, Dies Suddenly at 57
I am deeply saddened by this devasting loss.
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13.30 No, i can't believe it. i just read that Koyo Kouoh passed away last night.
That is very sad. What a loss for the whole world.
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i wish i were more active, ideally with a daily entry. but then the days fly by, and the diary fades into the background. i've been in Kololi since tuesday, but my mind is already in the global north—art basel, and a lot more... seeing mom and friends.
i avoid regularity, though; if i forced myself, i would definitely be more productive. in the morning, for example. but i don't get up at the same time every day. i usually wake up early, but depending on how well i slept, i sleep longer. in case of taking sleeping aids (melatonin, valerian or surmontil) as i do sometimes, my head is blank the next day. then nothing works except drinking coffee. reading inspires me a lot, although i've had trouble concentrating since Nnedi Okorafor's science fiction. yes, it must be the upcoming trip distracting me. i'm too excited.
the goat i wrote about last month is now with us. we named her Koffee after the artist, just like our dogs Yellow (Yellow Man) and Beenie (Beenie Man). i love her. she's very funny and sometimes reminds me of a deer. the way she hops and jumps is gorgeous. have to film it once.
KOFFEE
Friday, 9
PRIVACY
she showed me last time
her big space, still empty—
a container was coming
to fill it soon
today, three months later,
she said, don't be late, love
(she always calls me that)
she had more work to do
i tried to look my best
a bit stressed
and in fact,
arrived 15 minutes early
it's only a short walk
of course, i had to wait
till she opened the gate
trying to make small talk,
i asked if she liked the new place
not noticing—
she wasn't in the mood
on the way to her salon,
i glanced into the big room
she showed me last time
like a volcano, she scolded me:
how dare you—this is private!
i tried to explain
tried to say sorry...
thought of her as a friend
no, she snapped,
you have to accept
that you made a mistake
no problem
i made a mistake
and felt like a stray
Thursday, 1
Art Space Work of the Month
Maren Sanneh (1958), Le College D'Architecture, part of “Dakar May 2016” series
photography, inkjet on glossy paper, 2017, 29,7 x 42 cm