Years have passed sharing great conversations about art and its commitments in different cultures and means of expression, father and son, debating with passion and vigor about existential questions as if our lives depended on it. From a young age, I was lucky enough to be considered an equal at the dinner table, escaping the repetitive french fries and often sharing the "grown-ups'" menu; although I also used the dining room as a battlefield, a place where I confronted the person feeding me, power games in which I often disliked something while the only thing happening was that I was angry. I quickly understood that "liking" or "disliking" is not as directly related as I thought to "good" or "bad," but rather that my tastes were born from the human relationship surrounding it. Over time, I observed that much more is hidden here, that these relationships are full of "give and take," and that from that very ordinary battlefield, where so many tears were shed, my tastes were born...my victories and my defeats. Aesthetics, and the tastes that govern me, are then the conclusion of all these relationships, consolidated in my memory.

"This is not fine dining" is an exhibition born from the need to question a cliché. There are many stories in the world of gastronomy that deserve to be told, but I find it necessary to emphasize that the history of cuisine, like that of art, has always been instrumentalized by the dominant culture, established by those who held power. The different aesthetics or currents are the conclusion, among other things, of the social relations of the time and their mannerisms, because "the king likes this, and consequently, the entire court."

It was important for me to understand that this instrumentalization is a consequence of the same power games that took place at my home table, but among adults in high-standing places. I am not trying to judge it here, I only point out the fact that the development of painting, like that of dance, or cooking, has been calibrated to the expectations of clients, and not of artists. Therefore, there are few arts, or artists, who have freed themselves from the need to be validated, to assume the subversive role of sharing their most intimate madness, with all the flavors it implies. For purely economic purposes, artists usually remain faithful to the demands of the external gaze, straitjacketed in outdated structures. Until not so long ago, "art" served only to reproduce the idealized images of high society, staging their narratives and creating a very precise distinction from the culture or folklore of the people, with their fascinating songs, rodas, and grandmother's recipes, versus the music, dances, and other ornaments of "high society." A way to sublimate and differentiate the power of the common people, and in passing, to show the worth of one's own culture as an identifying signature.

"This is not fine dining" proposes a critique of the forced mannerism that has nothing to do with food, quality, or the sincerity of the gesture. It is an open provocation that tries to very clearly differentiate the substance from the form. "Fine dining" is the ostentation of form, of the container and not the content. It has nothing to do with the free and unleashed creativity of so many artists fascinated by their own discoveries who find their limits and scribble with them. The search I share with my father, Bernd, is the sincerity of the spontaneous gesture; the proposition of truly innovative experiences; it is building fertile contexts for creativity, free from all the noise that prevents paying attention to the artist's experience.

Let's differentiate between eating well and pretense. Many restaurants, many artists dedicate a large part of their energy to building the container, the form, the concept, the idea, and forget to fill it with experiences, with adventures, with passion, with obsessions, with madness. I understand the difficulty of losing control, of feeling fragile, of showing oneself vulnerable, of being afraid, of falling, but only there are the treasures we so desperately seek, the nuggets that make art a "real" path.

We all know that the great French chefs historically served the nobility, and that when heads rolled, they were left without work and had to reinvent themselves, filling the cities with high-level kitchens serving what would then be their new clients, the bourgeoisie.

We must not forget that the Michelin guide was literally invented to "burn rubber," a way to consume the tires of the very famous tire company. In this very original way, all those Parisians who, being great gourmets et gourmandes, suffered from the typical centralism of large cities, doubting that anything of value existed beyond the limits of their city, were encouraged to travel.