A lecture abourt Francis Alys in the Hispanic Society of Harlem. A piece of colonial Spain in the middle of Black Harlem, huge courts and baroque architecture opening to a street of hamburger and pizza shops. When the lecturer enters the room, I find him very familiar. It takes me a few minutes to find out, who he is – where did I see him. Mexico, Mexico. I make the connection: he was the prominent guest of the Mexican Pavilion of the 07 Venice Biennial, my second employer after being fired from the Hungarian one. Todays lecturer came by boat: but to grab the land is not the most obvious thing to do. He failed to have both his feet on the bank of the canal: he fell into the water. Silence. Everybody stands still, frightened. What will he say? How will he react? Others forcing back their laugher. And there he comes. Swimes some hundred meters down, to reach a point where he can climb out to the bank. He walks back, soaked to the skin, water dropping from all his clothes, around and behind him. And laughs, laughs as if it were the best thing to do in Venice, a quick swim in the canals. All relieved. Hapy end.
