With each painting I reveal, it seems as if Basquiat is subtly dancing in the background, a mischievous smile on his lips. And among the crowd, I hear: “More Basquiat?”, they have fun saying. The beautiful irony is that I don't even open his art notebooks for inspiration. In my last creation, it was simply a meeting between me, a space cake, and a capricious muse. Who would have guessed that my artistic fantasies would evoke the shadow of Basquiat? Perhaps, after all, he himself had a secret fondness for space cakes!
