Sabine returned carrying a bag containing an effortless pair of Christian Wijnants fringed trousers and Ann Demeulemeeter Crinkle Nero boots. The sales assistant had agreed that the combination made Sabine looks exactly like an artist. ‘A conceptual artist?’ Sabine asked, and the sales assistant said, ‘Or an actual artist.’ Sabine is having a moment. Her new exhibition, Fuck You, Help Me, is opening soon and, as her gallerist says, ‘hell is an artist three days before their exhibition opens’. But it’s not only this coming milestone that is causing Sabine to melt down. She is being stalked. As exhibition day draws closer, so too does the man who has been watching her. As his approaches become more overt and threatening, Sabine’s fear amplifies and transforms into something feral and primal. And then things start to get really strange.
