Twenty years as his agent and five as his gallerist, and today the chapter is a personal one.
The film above is the two of us, in cities all over the world. Some of the pictures are mine, taken while we were working.
I have lost count of the flights. The airports before dawn, the hotels whose names I could not tell you now, the dinner after a long day, the mornings when everything went right and the ones when nothing did. The oldest photograph here is from 2008 and the most recent from this summer: eighteen years of them. Put end to end, we have spent half a lifetime in each other's company.
You do not share that much with someone and remain only their agent. Somewhere in there he became my closest friend. I have been beside him on the rollercoaster that every life turns out to be, and he has been beside me on mine.
Twenty years with an artist is not something you arrange. It lasts because you still want to see what he does next. I do.
Eight chapters to go.
The gallery is open, as always, by appointment.
