Suddenly, our seeing hurls around, what we see no longer fixed but spinning, twisting, higher then, lower now, topsy-turvy upside-down and downside-up, faster faster, it’s a nightmare and now slow as in a dream, now a deafening noise then deadly silence and then again, instantly back to our senses, there is this sound again and we experience a loss of steadiness, a loss of grip – oh help! – horizon vertical, diagonal, giddiness and dizziness, intoxication, vertigo, nauseating non-perspective, paralyzing fear from total non-control: our world and what we sense of it an utter chaos, we chaotic.

Clinging to the rope we thought we mastered, it’s lifeline now, a spoke of existential centrifuge, oh god I hope it holds, at mercy of its strength and of the hand that holds it at the centre of this scene.

The hand is strong, the arm is strong, the dervish we see just glimpses of is strong – and finally we safely land in silence and new stillness and new sights.

This is what the artist does for us: he tilts horizons, shifts perspectives, causes movement in fixed gazes, brings new life to what was still. Has he seen our panic, heard our panting, sensed relief when landing down, read the new thoughts in our minds – do we make him learn as well?