I could have chosen to immortalise the image of this bag of shit in many other locations. I thought about arranging it on the muddy soil outside the boat, as if it was putting down roots, but a man was walking up and down, talking on the phone for ages, and I didn’t want to wait until he was gone. I could have held it against the orange lights on the bridge, that would have given it a melancholic urban look. But then I couldn’t be bothered with any of that, and just threw it on the floor. And as soon as I did that, I realised it actually looked quite good on the tiles, with the shadow and all. It was a random decision, it could have turned out shit, but I was lucky it didn’t.
A friend the other day asked me if I had any regrets. If there was anything I would have done different. I replied that I would have gone to art school instead of ‘liceo scientifico’ (a secondary school where you study a lot of latin and physics). But at the time when I was faced with such decision I had no idea what I was nor what I wanted and so I let the common sense of other people decide for me. So now I look at all the 20-somethings who have done shit loads of shows and exhibitions and shit like that and I feel a bit old and behind. But actually, not really. I don’t give a shit anymore. It doesn’t really matter. I got here, eventually, and no one can take this away from me anymore unless I decide to or I die. I may never get to show my stuff at Tate or I may never get Arts Council funding because I don’t know how to sell my shit and don’t write my artist statement using important words. But at least I’m doing what I love now. Like throwing bags of shit on the floor, taking pictures of them and writing about them. Who would have thought! I certainly didn’t believe it would be possible only a few years ago.
It’s never too late to do that or anything else really. And the shit you’ve done before will come in handy at some point. The important thing is to actually take a fucking decision, whatever that is, without it being dictated by fear.