Well, buckle up, Rupert, cause I've turned pro.

Unclipping Icarus: Turning Intimate Gestures into Stone

When the snail dares to leave the house again, but the stigma of shame still weighs millions and every flap of the wings could hurt, a retrospective that is as prudent as it is ruthless draws circles to the banks of a gently swaying pond. Bright-eyed and gloomy, angry and brilliant. The wreckoning with a generation of disconnectedness, of blind self-development mania and artistic transfiguration together with its radiance.