One day a small itch visits you, a feeling, a hunch of something that could be changed. You start exploring what it might be, how big it is, what is part of it, what doesn’t fit, which edges are too far to see. Slowly the hunch starts to transform into an idea. First it’s very rough, its contours merely visible, then, after you beat, torture, inquire and polish it, it starts to unveil some of its potential beauty. It’s translated into another language, documented, sketched and presented. You invite people from all of the world to test and try the idea, to punch it, to build upon it, to take it for a walk or for a wild bus ride down the country side. Slowly the idea starts to alter reality, in corridors whispers can be heard, folded notes pass from hand to hand, it gains momentum, it shows up in books and presentations, children shout its name and grown ups discuss it over coffee. It starts to change the world, cathedrals and shopping centres are erected in its name, magazines and tv hosts spew it out in an endless sea of words, images and objects. For the idea this is the sign that it has to move on, it has done its duty and is free to float again, above the roofs and squares of the old city it flies until it has found yet another sleepless night.