blue Room
Bräuhausgasse 31 Vienna 2023

In the dim room, he stands, a silhouette in the night, gazing at the empty space. It screams for change. "Can't take it anymore," he mutters, eyes scanning the barren walls and drab furnishings. A blank canvas, begging for life. Obsession whispers in his mind, "Addicted to Walls," Vieth's words echoing. A manifesto promising to blur boundaries. Bachelard's "Poetics of Space" lingers like a promise. Excitement surges as he grasps the spray paint, his tools of creation. A smile tugs at his lips as he dons the mask. An artist, an intruder, a dreamer. The first spray hisses, a blue thought filling the void with life. Floor and ceiling become his canvas. He feels like a poet, writing on invisible pages. No limits, just possibilities. His hands move feverishly, dancing between lines and freedom. The blues spread, every spray a breath of life. But euphoria fades as reality sets in. The scent of paint numbs his senses, the mask suffocating. Five hours pass, each moment stretching. His fingers ache, his back protests. Lines blur, colors blend. Is this art, or exhaustion? The room shifts, a labyrinth where he's lost. The colors lose their magic, the lines become shackles. He staggers, engulfed in colors and exhaustion. He hears words echo: "There are boundaries." But today, there are none. Just space, colors, lines. He merges with his dream, until the lines become his prison.