Networking / Enchufes / Kontakter

Close friend, distant cousin? Old classmate or new bedmate? -- I should spend less time wondering what strings Ms. Xx and Mr. Xy pulled in order to get this and that assignment beyond my dreams, those who suddenly Appear instead of, for instance, me. The world of Arts and Graphics is run By Invitation Only, and I can still only guess how the wiring goes behind the Potemkin market where lottery tickets with good numbers are bought and sold. Needing some kind of de-acidification, I drew this little praise in 2½ languages (mi Español es muy limitado) of this subtle and gentle system in my usual ink-and-aqua on A4 paper (≈letter size).

Swedish Kontakter means Contacts, of course, and Enchufes is the Spanish term for the same electrifying kind of human connections. The word and idea of Networking has seeped deeply into Swedish and Sweden. (Another local word for clandestinely climbing upwards and sending others downwards through intrapersonal entanglements, Nätverka, is virtually the same).

Let us be fair and say that Prince Potemkin didn't invent this game. I'd blame Plato;

In his Republic, he advocates a kind of genetic engineering, or ethnic breeding. The best sociodarwinistic result is attained when strong men are mated with fair healthy women, and in order to have these arranged marriages arranged without too many protests, the philosopher suggested a Marriage Lottery. This lottery, as you already understand, would be heavily arranged itself, fair as a quackdoctored election. But now the losers would only blame their poor luck, or so Plato thought. It never occurred to him that that most people smell something fishy when they draw no. 666 thirteen times in a row.

Or have we lost our sense of smell? We might renounce monarchy and the influence of a few wealthy families -- but at least we honestly know how those therein got their job; by being born. Their lottery ends there. Here I have no space nor will or strength for further speculations concerning the other and sadly voluntary kind of lottery; whether many generations of clinging, climbing and personal electricity have befouled the air so much that we think there's fair trade going on behind the curtain when we, by this time true connoisseurs of kameraderei, ought to recognize the distinct smell of exquisitely pungent Baltic herring. (Hmm, sniff sniff, prima sekunda fisk! five months on the rot, I'd say, or is it seven?) Anyhow --
 

I aimed to draw this little exposé with some kind of vitriolic humour. Networking and using each other is what people amuse themselves with while our Earth is dying, and creativity and painting is my little amusement -- my only one and the only thing I can still believe in -- while they network.



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