We would not like the barn to be different. But the barn is no longer the barn. The barn must change.
The barn at Kouter is cut through. In the cut, a window and a door appear. On one side. On the other side, a mirror. The cut is a purely functional wish. Light, access. The cut is probably also a dichotomy. For nothing needed to be added, yet it must happen nonetheless. The mirror immediately heals the wound, or, at least, it turns the cut into something different.
Heyvaert placed two plastic rainwater pipes in a novel way on a wall, probably also of a barn. The rainwater pipes become a permanent part of that barn. But now they are different. Heyvaert must have spent some time looking at his arrangement of rainwater pipes afterwards.
Finally, or firstly, he was an architect. He knows what purpose it must actually serve. But then he can only do it that way. And he sees that it is good. That it makes, at least, the difference. But he knows that it is no longer a rainwater drainpipe. But ought to be.
