Imagine this: Now she´s run off to the desert, to find herself. She was bloody pissed learning what our Ray-O-Port had done to her. Strange, because in the past she always said, art couldn´t be abstract and informal enough. I think she should be glad not been turned into a Rauschenborough. "White Director" - Haha!
	While Dr Esmeralda is slouching through the marsian desert, lamenting about missed oportunities to profile herself, we take the chance and present ourselves in the first gallery on Mars. It´s not bad hanging here, and I think we will make a real inauguration.