Some of my work consists in shopping for absurd objects at bottom line prices, that means walking around thrift stores and flea markets and shuffling through dusty boxes belonging to freshly dead people. The other day I was scouting for a large amount of barbies who are to be tortured over the course of a semi-read, semi-staged play written by an Argentinian transvestite playwright living in Paris in the 80s. I found some at ‘le jeu de balle’, a daily morning flea market in downtown Brussels. When inquiring about the price, a Maroccan dealer, told me: “4 euros” to which I argued: “Mais elle a meme pas d’habits!” (She doesn’t even have clothes!). After all, a naked Barbie is close to pointless, think about it, there really is nothing to play with. Sticking to his original price, the chap said: “Mais c’est l’ete non?” (Well it’s summer isn’t it?).
