Dissection

This jacket belongs to my mum’s financial advisor. It hangs at the back of his office. He maintains his eccentric character, in the face of all that abstract number crunching.



He is part of our portrait. We are partly a piece of a man who wears very precise Italian suits, chain smokes cigars, dyes his hair jet black and spends every second weekend in the Canaries.



He meticulously digs through codes, searching for every small loophole. He deals in reimbursing life hours.