Mountain

Mountain

Mountain

tub, soil, spraypaint, 2006

I was once a mountain. It’s hard to buy clothes when you are a mountain. Most of the clothes don’t fit. Another problematic thing about being a mountain is to travel by public transport or to fly with budget airlines. They are not exactly tailored to your size. Being a mountain, it is therefor better to just stay put and not travel too much and just stick you head in the clouds, because unlike budget airline seating, clouds don’t hurt.

Clouds are filled with thoughts and a mountain can’t help to always feel at home between the ideas. Thoughts can be anything, they can be good or bad, or smart or stupid, but what they can’t be is an actual physical doorframe or a ceiling into which a mountain bumps its head.

Nothing grows on the top of a mountain. No plants and no animals and all year long it is covered with snow which keeps the mountains head cool, so it can think calmly and in silence.

The only day the head of the mountain isn’t covered in snow is on national mountain day, when the head of every proper mountain turns orange instead of white. Everybody knows orange is a funny colour. Orange is the colour of a field of red tulips bombarded with gouda cheese. Which is to say, it’s the colour of a joke.

Every mountain is a bit of solitary type, but it can always appreciate a good joke.