The first dream is of a dry kiss. Her lips touch mine but something does not pass in the process. It was a hesitant affair; we were waiting on the sidelines, waiting to be taught. I have failed to imagine how she looked at me afterwards. How dissatisfied were we?
I think now, we hadn’t been taught to kiss.
In the second dream, my secondary school Mathematics teacher is insane. His hair is plaited. I cannot remember correctly but I think he chased me with a stick, caught me, and whipped me hard. It was part of an experiment for him. He wanted, I think, to prove the range of his impact on me long after I left secondary school. It ended up being comical, we laughed together. But I ran away from him.
Someone everywhere in the Artworld, since December 4, must have thought about Okwui Enweazor. Chika Okeke-Agulu interviewed him after he was announced as Director of the 56th Venice Biennale. He says: “I learned enormously about art, not in an art history seminar (I don’t even recall actually taking one) but by seeing enormous number of exhibitions, being in the presence of art and artists every week, everywhere. I still do, and I maintain the exercise of seeing, reading, thinking, and writing.”
And Sylvere Lotringer had written: “You can learn a lot from artists–all you have to do is keep your ears open.”
Something about Chika Okeke-Agulu’s poem makes me weak from admiration:
Who force-opened Whitecountry doors
And set Harmattan
On Hegel’s lips
I offer this toast
This glass of upwine
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