Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up. I didn’t come up with that, actually you should put it in solemn quotation marks as it was uttered by Pablo Picasso who was quite a genius. However, one question remains: was I an artist when I was a child? I’m not so sure. My earliest artwork is from 1970 and even though I read art history at university, I can’t tell you if it’s art or not. Was the two-year-old me influenced by Jackson Pollock’s action painting (two-year-old kids are drawn to actionism, I guess), pointilism (without a doubt, it’s a dot of some kind) or, from a mere iconographical point of view, was I referring, quite anachronistically, to Pacman? And why did I chose my mother’s Hermès scarf as a canvas? Did the Brides de Gala design inspire me? Was I interrupted? Considered an iconoclast? Sent to bed without dessert after my first stroke with that felt pen in bleu royal? All these questions have not yet been answered. This work of art won’t make it into an art book. My mother, however, cherishes this scarf like no other. And keeps telling anybody who listens that my creativity had no bounds whatsoever. But she always loved Picasso. She’s no help here, either.