07/08/2024
Hande Eagle: I’ve been reading a lot about you, and I don’t know how much of it is true.
Leandro Erlich: None of it is true.
H.E: To me, the questions are very important. I think they are very important to you too, because you keep asking them in your work. You come from a family of architects. How did you decide to study Philosophy? Many online sources state that you have a degree in the subject.
L.E. Yeah, I went to university to study Philosophy, but I didn’t finish. I don’t have a degree in Philosophy.
H.E. Ah, okay.
L.E. I went to the US to do a post-graduate program in Art. I don’t have a degree in Philosophy or in Art, but I have a post-graduate. Nothing has been that organised in terms of the structure of my formal education.
H.E. I’m Turkish-British and where I was born, Istanbul, the general view on the study of Philosophy at degree level was seen as a waste of time, because such a degree would not get you a good job. Is that the same in Argentina?
L.E: Yeah, I guess everywhere. It’s the same for art. I participated in the Istanbul Biennial 22 years ago [7th International Istanbul Bieannial, 2001, curated by Yuko Hasegawa]. So, they are different but there are many things you can relate between Istanbul and Buenos Aires. I would say that we belong to countries where the illusion of a system that is there to organise your life and open opportunities based on your past efforts does not exist. In some countries, and for some people, this may apply. In Argentina, university education is still free and high quality, so you can become a doctor and pay nothing and that gives opportunity to anyone to access education. However, if you look at education in the US, you see that education belongs to the economic system, once you pay for your education, once you have the degree is when you start to get back what you paid for. This may not apply to some humanistic careers like in philosophy and art, but it does apply to most of the technically applied jobs. Even if you may not be a very successful doctor, you’ll still get a job because you have a credential. The reason I studied philosophy is because after high school, I went to the art school in Buenos Aires for one year and I realised that was a waste of time, the school was not good, and I was interested in learning things. Once you finish high school and you have to decide what you are going to do; it is the moment in which most people take a couple of years to start architecture or law, in a way you are extending the incertitude that you will be facing five years later, once you get a degree. So, in a way, I found myself eager to take that risk from that moment. I was interested in doing art, without a guarantee that I would be able to make a living out of this. It was either that or to do something else for another five years at which point you are facing the cliff-edge.
H.E: I would like to go back to 1973, the year in which you were born. It was an eventful year in Argentine history with a lot of events happening. General elections, when Juan Peron with his wife Isabel Peron as his running mate, won with a record landslide on the same FREJULI umbrella ticket on which Cámpona had been elected just six months earlier. Going back to the similarities I’ve drawn many parallels between the histories of Turkey and South America, especially after uniting my life with a Brazilian-Argentinian man. Argentina and Turkey in particular share a history of military coups, dictatorships, political upheaval, violence, protests… I know how my interpretation of evening news on TV, influenced the way in which I came to look at the world at a young age. Nobel laureate [2020] Louise Glück, who passed away in October 2023, wrote in her poem "Nostos": “We look at the world once, in childhood. The rest is memory”. Could you please comment on this in relation to your work and your background?
L.E: Clearly, we are all victims of our circumstances and we are all influenced by our history. My artwork has always been influenced by personal experiences. If there’s something that happened back then, in my childhood... I was ten years old when democracy came back to Argentina. By the age of seven, eight, nine, you’re fully conscious of what’s going on. I was going to a public school and you could not repeat what your parents spoke about at home. You can’t go to school and say “the president is a son of a bitch” because then the teacher will potentially denounce you and people were kidnapped and they disappeared. Though, during that period, I was fortunate enough not to experience any immediate kidnapping. Noone in my family was harmed, some friends of my parents were exiled.
H.E: Political exile?
L.E: Yes, political exile. At that age you are not conscious of it. If your question is about how that time in my life correlates with what I do, I would say that it’s a kind of an analytical way of searching something in the work. I am not sure if that matters to me. Neither to justify the work as a way to explain or to conceptualise it. I believe that art has this universal way of communicating and linking people. Going into the specifics, which could probably relate, is like doing psychoanalysis.
In other words, the magic of art is that someone is creating something, and someone is interpreting something that has been made, and the action of the interpretation is equally creative as the action of making. Otherwise, you are providing formulae to be studied or proved, that’s why I never liked the work being analysed. But clearly there are issues related to my childhood as well as family context and personal interest. Things have been building up and there was always this search for things...
H.E: Perhaps growing with life, or growing through life?
L.E: Growing through life, I have less anxiety to explain or to justify things because you realise that something is in the work of art and that you are communicating through this medium. We need to let that to speak. It’s like having a book of Shakespeare and expecting that William Shakespeare will be next to you and you go and say, when you wrote this were you thinking of this? I would love to ask him a thousand questions but at the same time, the questions are for yourself, and noone is more entitled to answer the questions than yourself. However, you will probably listen to what William Shakespeare has to say, because at the end of the day, he was the one who wrote it.
[Shared laughter]
L.E: Exactly, this idea that we feel we need to corroborate... Whether our thinking or our interpretation is right... And the truth is that the most important thing has already happened when you asked those questions and you found for yourself your own answers.
"We have the illusion that we have learned enough, we learnt all that we needed to learn, whereas learning is unlimited. You can continue your exploration and keep hold of your curiosity and your appetite for learning forever. "
Leandro Erlich
H.E: “Beyond the Threshold” (“Oltre la soglia,” 2023). It’s not about what happens beyond that threshold, but rather what happens when you are on that threshold in that exact moment, your vulnerability, your nakedness, you, your body, whatever you want to call it – your soul – your recollection of yourself and what’s outside of you. What would you say you gained out of your expansive exhibition that was on display at Palazzo Reale in Milan last year? What did it teach you? It was such an immense exhibition in such a grand venue, at such a well-respected institution. What did you gain out of it as an artist?
L.E: Well, the first thing I can say is that this wasn’t the first big exhibition, I did similarly large exhibitions in Japan [“Seeing and Believing,” Mori Art Museum, Tokyo, 2018] and Argentina [“Liminal,” MALBA, Buenos Aires, 2019]. However, this was the first in Europe.
I remember the day that we opened the exhibition in Buenos Aires, there was an incredible number of people, perhaps 10,000, I don’t know exactly... I said to the curator [Dan Cameron] at that time, “This is weird”. He responded, “What, aren’t you happy?” “Yes, yes, I am happy but I don’t know, we have in the field of art, this kind of prejudgment that things are popular are shit.” Unfortunately, most of the time that’s what happens. Most things that are massive, with large numbers of attendance, are things that are crap, creates a total underestimation of the audience. He told me, “Listen, there were many artists, who were very popular, like Andy Warhol.”
Looking back, I may have done somethings differently, I really enjoy the opportunity to share my work with lots of people. I still feel like a “pecora nera” [black sheep] as an artist. In the sense that I produce some collectible work but many of the things I make, I feel like making it and it’s in order to share it with others. Nowadays, the art world is very much market-oriented. What I do is different. It’s not different because I planify, it’s just a condition. You feel clumsy, you are not achieving, but I realise that’s the condition and peculiarity of my work. I was very happy to see that people, families, children were connecting with my art, and feeling that art could be both thoughtful and fun. It gave me great satisfaction to see their interaction. In particular, at Palazzo Reale in Milan, there was another layer. The audience in Milan – regardless of their cultural and educational background – has been shaped by culture for centuries. They have been looking at the masters for ages. There was one day in particular, when I went back into the exhibition at Palazzo Reale... I walked in and everybody was looking at the work and there was this silence in the room, but not this sense of "silenzio sacro" [holy silence]. I was very happy to experience that.
"[...] the truth is that the most important thing has already happened when you asked those questions and you found for yourself your own answers."
Leandro Erlich
H.E: That reminds me of a passage from Eduardo Galleano... I read it this morning and I thought to myself, “We might end up talking about the artistic gaze.” In the urban centres of Europe people have been living in this artistic culture, breathing it in for centuries. They go out into the street and they see amazing architecture, and art in museums, they are accustomed to this eclectic yet fundamental sense of beauty. If you don’t mind me reading this passage from Galleano’s The Book of Embraces to you.
L.E: Please, go ahead.
H.E: “Fleas dream of buying themselves a dog, and nobodies dream of escaping poverty: that one magical day, good luck will suddenly rain down on them – will rain down in buckets. But good luck doesn’t rain down in buckets. But good luck doesn’t rain down yesterday, today, tomorrow or ever. Good luck doesn’t even fall in a fine drizzle, no matter how hard the nobodies summon it, even if their left hand is tickling, or if they begin the new day on their right foot, or start the new year with a change of brooms. The nobodies: nobody’s children, owners of nothing. The nobodies: the no-ones, the nobodied, running like rabbits, dying through life, screwed every which way. Who are not, but could be. Who don’t speak languages, but dialects. Who don’t have religions, but superstitions. Who don’t create art, but handicrafts. Who don’t have culture, but folklore. Who are not human beings, but human resources. Who do not have faces, but arms. Who do not have names, but numbers. Who do not appear in the history of the world, but in the crime reports of the local paper. The nobodies, who are not worth the bullet that kills them” [Eduardo H. Galleano, The Book of Embraces, 1991, translated into English by Cedric Belfrage with Mark Schafer, W.W. Norton, New York, p.73]. Would you say that this is how you can define the difference between a European audience and a South American audience? I know it’s a tough question and I am not one to make generalisations...
L.E: First of all, every audience to me is an audience that deserves my respect and I do not see that people are more intelligent and have more value in one society than another. However, perhaps I can clarify better what I meant in relation to my exhibition at Palazzo Reale in Milan. It was presented a few blocks away from Leonardo’s Last Supper,– or my other work [Window & Ladder, 2022,] at a hotel in Fiesole, the hills where Leonardo was testing his flying machine, creates a context that relates to art history so strongly. That puts you in a situation where your work may be judged through the eye of art history. If your work remains somehow relevant in that context you feel like, “Okay, so may be I am not that far off”. Maybe what I am saying makes sense in context of our ancestral line. I am part of a strain of the cultural evolution. If I put on an exhibition in a place where people are not familiar with art history...
H.E: It gets lost on them.
L.E: Yeah, or may be it’s like the way people may make connections between things. It’s not less valuable. So, this aspect was particularly touching for me at “Oltre la soglia” in Milan. We have to remember that in the Western world, we are the grandchildren of Greece and Italy. From here to America, there exists a distillation of what the Greeks started more than 2000 years ago.
H.E: Another aspect of your work I would like to talk about is play. All of your works are thought-provoking and engaging. They offer “play” for adults as well as children. At a certain point in our development we stop playing as we get into different hobbies or interests and then turn them into serious engagements but they are no longer play. As Friedrich Nietzsche put it, “In every real man a child is hidden that wants to play.” In real life, are you as playful a man as the man behind these works?
L.E: I think that I remain playful. In relation to the idea of playing what you just said is true. I would like to add two things. Firstly, when children play they are learning. Play is learning. It’s not about being entertained, play is a mechanism for children to learn their place in the world. It’s a matter of education and process of learning. At age 5, you will not learn about physics and Newton, but you will nevertheless be in contact with physics and mathematics through play. And it’s not simply that adults stop playing, there’s more to it. Adults stop learning at a very young age because there’s a moment - if you have a formal education, may be after college or perhaps way before that – in which you stop learning because we have the illusion that we have learned enough, we learnt all that we needed to learn, whereas learning is unlimited. You can continue your exploration and keep hold of your curiosity and your appetite for learning forever. Sometimes, adults indeed undervalue the action of playing, because they associate it with entertainment which is in turn linked to distracting yourself from the stress of life, and entertaining yourself is a kind of opiate. Going back to your question, very often children and adults find themselves playing with my artwork. However, this action of playing is simultaneously an action of learning and fun. This leads me to another fake concept that serious matters have to be painfully boring in order to be serious while superficial issues are always presented like candy. The more superficial the society, the more superficial and less educated the audience, the more difficult they find it to understand what I do.
H.E. Which leads me to another question. How much of the contemporary art is a product of sincerity?
L.E: I was talking to Mario [Cristiani, co-founder of Galleria Continua and Associazione Arte Continua] about this yesterday and I don’t know. I think that first of all, I would never place it in terms of percentages, I would never answer like that. Yet, it’s a valid question. I don’t know. But I am quite romantic in terms of my idea of art. I grew up watching Italian neo-realism, black and white old films and yes, you realise that there were things that had been made with a lot of heart, you called it, sincerity...
H.E: And, now?
L.E: Even sincerity has become subject of speculation. Meaning, to play sincere about whatever subject, to be perceived in a particular way, that could be – already from the beginning – done in order to achieve attention. We are talking about sincerity in the contemporary arts right? I think it would be easier for us to understand and judge sincerity in a system that is not rewarding the artist so well. Sincerity would be to do something without expectation, without having eyes on you. That’s pure sincerity. This is what you do because this is what you want to express to others. But ultimately, there are still many sincere artists and actions. Although, I would say that it would not be as clear as placing the qualities of sincerity or authenticity where you would imagine to find them. At the same time, I’m answering your question about sincerity in contemporary art from the position of an artist. How much sincerity do you think there is in the art world?
H.E: As a journalist?
L.E: Not as a journalist... Consider sincerity in the art world as a market?
H.E: Well, markets are not sincere.
L.E: Exactly. Markets are not sincere but it’s clearly a culturally driven force.
H.E: For example, I’m trying to put out a level of sincerity with my writing. My blog is ad-free and free for all to read. A labour of love and dedication to presenting profound writing about art. I sold my writing for years, and then there came a point in my life, when I decided I no longer wanted to accept "house style" and compromise on the quality and genuineness of my published work. That’s why I can sit here and talk to you about sincerity.
L.E: Some artists who are important and famous artists, can do very eclectic things. Sometimes they become a brand and this makes us doubt their sincerity.
H.E: Yes, exactly and there’s always a brand, be it paint or another material that a particular painter or sculptor with which they may choose to create their art, regardless of our awareness of it.
L.E: There’s a brand in our jackets, shoes, everything. In his lifetime, Raffaello [Raphael] was a brand. It’s hard to go into this kind of analysis, unless the art that is made is absolutely crap. That’s the ultimate problem.
H.E: In your works, especially ones involving mirrors [Bâtiment, 2004; La Torre, 2007], or fake mirrors [Cadres Dorés, 2007], or the semblance of a mirror [The Ballet Studio, 2002; Double Tea, 2010], you continually bring the audience face-to-face with their inner selves. This is very clever because most people don't enjoy the experience of looking at themselves, neither introspectively nor physically. I think with the rise of the internet and social media, and in spite of the popularity of “the selfie”, people look at themselves much less, and less often than they used to. Do you get a kick out of knowing that adults experiencing your works feel a tad bit uncomfortable in their skins?
L.E: I do think about the viewer when the work is conceived. I have to imagine the virtual aspects. A situation will be created and it will present itself very spontaneously. So when someone arrives at a work or a particular installation everything has to be presented in a way that gives people the chance to discover things by themselves. Everything needs to feel like a personal journey, but of course everything has clearly been predetermined even though it doesn’t look like that. My thinking is not centred on making people feel uncomfortable, I think this just becomes part of the emotions that anyone may have. Some people will stay there looking at themselves in the mirror, some people will feel uncomfortable, some people will be very hedonistic. It’s more about the poetic concept behind this reflection or there lack of it. In one of the works [The Ballet Studio], there’s a space that is duplicated, not finding your reflection where you expect it creates a conceptual contrast between the idea that our sense of seeing is the one that proves to us that we are here. When you are not able to corroborate yourself on a reflection it may lead to an experience that could be interpreted as not being there, as being invisible, or as being someone else when someone else shows up on the other side of this empty frame. There’s this beautiful short-story by [Jorge Louis] Borges, The Other [1972]. In the end, the other is you. And the other, is me. I am the other for you as well as you are the other for me. Over time, even though this has not been planified in a conceptual way, I realise that most of the time this work is a platform for people to interact with one another as they witness others doing the same. The audience become the actors, they are creating their own experience while witnessing someone else’s experience. It’s particularly touching when you see people who don’t know each other connect with someone who is a complete stranger and they are able to establish some kind of connection in a society that has become so specific and mistrustful... We are very careful to engage ourselves in conversations with people we don’t know.
H.E: I’m a cloud-gazer and I have been for a very long time. When I actually saw your cloud works for the first time, it touched me deeply. It portrayed a reflection of what I had been doing since childhood. I love to photograph them as well, although mine are just photographs of fleeting clouds. Yours are a creation of artistic sense. What is the strangest thing that you’ve ever seen in a cloud?
L.E: In a real cloud? The strangest?
H.E: The one that made you go, “Oh, I can’t believe it!”
L.E: So many things... so many things that I think it is completely infinite. I have seen some openings in the clouds, with a cloud of another colour, and another opening to the blue sky within that. Or clouds that have different shapes. It’s kind of like infinite. What’s the thing you remember the most in a cloud?
H.E: One instance was grandmother’s face. Presumably because I spent a lot of time with my grandmother when I was a child. Another was an elephant smoking a cigar.
L.E: And you photograph them?
H.E: Yes, when I can.
L.E: You have a photo of the elephant smoking a cigar?
H.E. No, because at times they move so fast, especially if it’s windy. Before you can get your hands on a smart phone or a camera, it has dissolved into thin air. I’ve been living away from my hometown for a long time and most recently, I was walking and I looked up at the sky and I saw a map of Istanbul, the Dardanelles, the Aegean Sea and Greece. And, I managed to take a photo of that! You do a lot of psychoanalysis when you are looking at the sky.
L.E: I have done a series of geographical clouds [The Cloud, 2012; Ephemeral Certainties, 2017].
H.E: Yes, I have seen them!
L.E: How old were you when you started looking at shapes in clouds?
H.E: I think I’ve been doing it forever, for as long as I can remember... Since age 4 or 5.
L.E: Did your parents tell you about looking at the clouds to see things?
H.E: No, I don’t recall.
L.E: Because I believe that humans recognise things on clouds fairly early on. They were able to look and suddenly associate them with things they saw around them. This is a condition that as far as I know, out of all the animals only humans have. If that’s the case, it’s a ready-made. Think about the role of cloud-gazing early on. I would imagine that even before someone took a piece of charcoal to draw something in the cave, they probably had to see something on a cloud and recognise it. It’s the same as before you speak a language, you hear a language. You don’t speak the language without hearing it. So, I think this kind of association based on what I see and what has been represented, may provide a clue for people to make their own representations.
"Everything I have been motivated to do with great effort is for the audience..."
Leandro Erlich
H.E. Some of your other works that interest me deeply are ones that make connections to climate change. Maison Fond (2015), Order of Importance (2019), Sopratutto (2020), The Breach: Labyrinth of Monoculture (2022). What instigated these works? Did you wake up one morning in 2014, and think, “I have to think about climate change or ecological disasters?”
L.E: I am someone who is interested in many things. I have many interests; politics, people, culture... I am interested in art, but I would not place this at the top of the list. When I travel, seeing an art exhibition is not a priority. For many years, I have been very concerned and I am involved in actions on the environment and sustainability. Everything has been different, from Maison Fond that was created for The Paris Climate Summit in 2015, two years after which everything was trashed. I am now creating a work in Miami. It is submerged underwater for the regeneration of the coral reef. There are things that are more concrete and others that are more symbolic. But I think it’s a very serious matter. I think that in respect of political systems and so on, with all its problems and imperfections, modern democracy is probably the best model to be living in. This is in relation to the human world, the social world. When it’s social, somethings could be subjective in accordance with people’s perspectives. However, when it comes to the environment there is not one second of subjectivity there. Things are going wrong and will not get better by themselves. We are the source of the problem. I feel very motivated to get involved, because it’s a personal concern, and I hope that my work helps to create general awareness. I have three children. I think that in terms of the changes we want to make it’s important to motivate the change with some level of optimism rather than pure truth that can be very depressive and heavy to handle.
H.E: You travel a lot, depending on where you are in the world, what’s your morning routine like? What’s the first thing you do?
L.E: I drink coffee first of all... But, I have a very nomadic life. If there’s something that my life doesn’t have, it’s routine. I have three families, my parents are still alive, I have two children from my former wife, and a baby with my current partner. My life involves a lot of juggling.
H.E: You observe a lot of people and situations in the places you go. you encounter a greater segment of human society and have a deeper sense of it than most people who work in 9 to 5 jobs, and lead relatively repetitive lives. Knowing all that you know, what do you think the future holds for us on this planet?
L.E: I think that I remain optimistic, otherwise we’d have to kill ourselves. But clearly, we are living in complex times. Even though many things are going wrong, somethings are improving. What I see about the future is clearly is that humanity will conquer space before solving the problems here. If we think that things are not linear, it may happen that the path of the evolution goes wrong first, in order to be adjusted and corrected. If you look back in history we are participants of a cultural evolution of two thousand years, so the last five hundred years in comparison is nothing. Two hundred years ago there were slaves in the States.
"[...] this leads me to another fake concept that serious matters have to be painfully boring in order to be serious while superficial issues are always presented like candy.
The more superficial the society, the more superficial and less educated the audience, the more difficult they find it to understand what I do."
Leandro Erlich
H.E: Here we are in 2024, in Italy, where we are facing cold facts; people working in agriculture are being treated like slaves.
L.E: Yes, the complexity that we are facing is huge. I was reading the other day, someone who analysed the idea of how slavery was abolished in the US and the South agreed to abolishing slavery and to pay them a modest salary instead. Because they realised that was more convenient, they no longer had to take care of them. The money they would pay them as salary would in any case find its way back to the pockets of the slave owners.
H.E: The Industrial Revolution, take the people off the fields, send them to the factory to live and work in return for little money or security. That's the way you remove power from the people, strip them of their sustainability, and you make them dependent on you but at the same time, you don’t have to deal with them.
L.E: Exactly, people are free slaves.
H.E: The title of your exhibition here at Galleria Continua San Gimignano is “A Night Flight Behind a Bricked Up Wall”. When I lived in the UK, I lived in numerous buildings that had been subject to window tax. For background information, the window tax was imposed in England in 1696, and levied on dwellings with the tax liability based on the number of windows. It led to efforts to reduce tax bills through such measures as the boarding up windows and the construction of houses with very few windows. In spite of the pernicious health and aesthetic effects and the widespread protests, the tax persisted for over a century and a half and was finally repealed in 1851. Nowadays in urban centres they construct buildings so close to one another that all you see out of your window is the wall of the house next door. This is a way of oppressing people. The economic system tells you “With this much money, you can only afford a house that has the wall of another house as its view”. Does your work reference this condition?
L.E: This is one way to interpret it. What I do has a polysemic quality. There are many interpretations and no single interpretation is more valid than the one you propose. Neither are the artist’s. When it comes to art, is it really important what my work was inspired by? Is it more important than your interpretation of it? I am not sure. In some cases, for some works making a particular statement is very important. For others, it’s open to interpretation like in poetry.
H.E: As Borges’s works in the late 1960s almost erase the distinction between the genres of prose and poetry, so does your work almost erase the distinction between art and architecture. And, I know you are inspired by Borges to some degree. Transcending these boundaries, your art includes a cacophony of things but there’s one thing I haven’t found a representation of in your work: love. Where is love in your work? Do you not believe in it?
L.E: I strongly believe in love but perhaps you are looking too close in terms of the art. What I do is an action of love.
H.E: Of course, in that sense, yes, there is love.
L.E: If you are talking about love in terms of relationships, this has never been a subject I was motivated to represent in the work. But when you step out a little bit, I think the definition that I feel works the best, most accurately. I would say that love is to give without expecting anything in return. Everything I have been motivated to do with great effort is for the audience, for the others. What I do is a huge expression of love, and I am not only talking about love in terms of the love I feel when doing it, I love to do what I do, I love to give and share it with others.
H.E: A question about the three amigos of cinema. Guillerme del Toro, Alejandro Gonzáles Iñárittu, Alfonso Cuarón. Would you say you are inspired by their films?
L.E: The three of them are from Mexico, I am from Argentina.
H.E: I know, but they explore a similar artistic vision.
L.E: I love what they do. More often than not, people from the same generation share common threads.
H.E: Your work also has a lot of common threads with Julio Cortázar but you are not from the same generation.
L.E: Yes, definitely.
H.E: After all, art is theft, isn’t it?
L.E: I was not and am still not one who looks for inspiration in art.
H.E: I suppose it can be limiting.
L.E: I think looking at art could inspire you, but it’s not like I read a book and I am thinking about an idea. My personal experiences are really my source of inspiration. Or my encountering a particular context. Context always inspires me.
H.E: Thank you for your time. I look forward to seeing more of your work in the coming years.
L.E: Thank you for this thoughtful interview, it's been surprising.
With special thanks to Galleria Continua
"Un volo notturno dietro una finestra murata" [A night flight behind a bricked up wall] will be on display at
Galleria Continua San Gimignano until September 1, 2024.
For more information on Leandro Erlich and his works visit: www.leandroerlich.art
This recorded interview was transcribed and edited by Hande Eagle. All rights reserved 2024.