Smel of old grease drawer,
Bluish spark like the sea,
Little bits of hot iron which squirt in all the corners;
But where are we?
It’s often a bit like that when we go into the metal work-shop. After you see the Christ, Christ he’s always there. Little, staight and strong. He ‘s the boss – but a good boss. He’s a master. You can tell by his hand. They are like lobster claws. Clic clic clic -screw-blot-screw-blot-screw-blot …
For an art school, it’s a really interesting work-room because it’s equiped by a outfit of machines.
At the end of the week… It farts and it jams, it cuts and it twists. The shavings are transformed into a space-ship. Be careful. One can getright to the back of your eyes.
When I’m over there, I’m imagine I’m a worker. I Hear the bell for the break and the colleaue who says: »To work guy! ». The mechanic is virile. At the end of the days, I’m like a chimney sweep… The chimney sweep of lilas.
Sometimes, I think again about when I worked in industry. I see the workers who made a career. Sublime faces beaten by stress, sweet hearts anaesthezied by loans… For a child who skips class and an unsightly woman. A worker who works his whole life in indusr wins his place in paradise directly… It’ s the very least.