An idea to eat

An idea, a concept, an idea — as long as it stays an idea, it is only an abstraction. If I could eat an idea, I would have made my revolution. (Un’idea, Giorgio Gaber)

For a month now I have done nothing but think about this idea. Day and night. Which vehicle would be most suitable. How to make it a travelling work of art. How to make it transformable inside and anonymous outside. How much this little scheme would cost me. A month asking myself whether I have really gone mad. Or whether I would be mad not to do it. On the threshold of 70. Working out wildly complicated business plans. Auditing my own financial and insurance situation like I had never done in my life. Talking it over with the people who love me, listening to their opinions, their affectionate doubts, their enthusiasm. Then I saw him on a listings site and I understood it was him. And I also understood this thing had to be done, and that this is what I would do with the next 4 years of my life. And I began to eat this idea.

I will call this project Nomad. Because it means the same thing in every European language. And also because it says NO MAD: no madman here (which is, after all, what all madmen say about themselves).