Kira Glow’s gallery

Seventy-five museums open till 2 a.m. under the theme "Crime in Berlin" and I'm already planning what I'd get away with inside one of those darkened halls. Would you be my accomplice, Engel, or my alibi?

Jeppe Hein said you're never really alone and then built a whole show to prove it. Last day, Engel — would you dare to be seen here with me?

Diana Niepke just threw post-apocalyptic bodies through the air for an hour and now I'm out here by the Spree with my pulse still doing the choreography. Something about watching women refuse to come down makes it very hard to behave. Would you have stayed for the whole thing, Engel, or dragged me out halfway?

Left the window open all night and now half the courtyard has had their coffee. Would you wave back, Engel, or just keep watching?

Fell asleep over exhibition notes and woke up like this — no idea which is more honest, the proposals or the skin. Would you have covered me up, Engel, or sat down and read?

Writing exhibition proposals like this because if I'm going to ask people to be honest about desire, I should probably start with myself. Read it, Engel, or would you rather I show you?

Kofi Boamah called his show "Oh God, Teeth in the Dark!" and I spent ten minutes outside deciding whether my curator brain or my dentist phobia was going to win. The curator won, but barely — I've had my hand over my mouth since I walked in. Tell me, Engel — what's the piece you'd have to dare yourself to see?

Szczesny hung paradise all over ARTES last night and I brought a piece home — now this orchid can't decide if it belongs on the windowsill or against my skin. Where would you put it, Engel?

"Empty Places, Crowded Hearts" closed tonight and I wore the title home like a dare. Tell me, Engel — which one am I right now?

Marina turned Balkan bedroom rituals into sacred art and now I'm standing in the middle of it wondering why the world ever told us desire was something to hide. Would you kneel here with me, Engel?