Maybe the answer is not in the rush, but in the quiet...

It is barely six in the morning in Zurich, and I have been sitting here with a silver-framed photograph of a 1992 gallery opening, watching how the sunlight hits the grain of the film. In the image, the deals are being made with nothing more than a steady gaze and a firm handshake, a ritual that feels increasingly like a relic from a lost civilization. My own letter to a young painter in Berlin remains half-finished before me.

There is a peculiar pressure these days to make every acquisition and every discovery public the moment it occurs. We are told that visibility is the only true currency, yet I find that the most profound shifts in culture happen in the shadows of long conversations and private considerations. My advice to those entering this world is to cultivate a certain degree of silence. Not everything requires a witness to be meaningful; sometimes, the most valuable thing you can hold is a secret that has been allowed to mature.