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A cloth of white is easiest to find in a moment of despair: a tablecloth, a curtain, a handkerchief or bandage, a shirt - anything that invades the battlefield with its whiteness. What is a truce? A respite, a ploy, or a defeat? On the one hand it is an incredibly brave act for someone who is tired of fighting or sees no point in confrontation. On the other hand - some would say it's cowardice, weakness in a battle where the truth is only valiant death. No one wants to lose, to concede, to listen, so white flags are forgotten, abandoned, not honoured. My white flag is ready, but no one wants it. It is made up of painstakingly sewn together pieces of cloth, as if it were made up of a multitude of arguments, opinions and reasons. From a distance, peering into the complex whiteness, perhaps a landscape of cemetery crosses scattered across it - the price for intractability and forced exploits - is revealed. Only the tips of the ribbons foretell the future, that if not stopped in time, the whiteness will dissolve into red.

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The photos of the artwork are from the solo exhibition "Spring" at KUUB.Space (Utrecht).