Exactly ten years ago, our degree show at the Academy of Fine Arts, Helsinki, was inaugurated. Ten years of triumph and failure as professional artist!

In the graduation exhibition, I worked under the name Görsky Grytvic & Riiko Sakkinen. Grytvic was my imaginary fellow artist born somewhere in the Balkans and residing in California. Our complex installation (including pastry, Molotov cocktails, painting, drawings, photos, video, football jerseys and much more) was called E.A.Q.V.Q.I.A.L.P. Featuring Kassu. The letters stood for El Año Que Viene Quiero Ir A La Playa = the next year I want to go to the beach. Maybe it was a kind of an unconscious statement that I wasn't going to be a 24/7 artist, though then I still didn't have any plan to form a family and move to the country side. Kassu was my mother's cocker spaniel who spent the days in the installation with me as a part of the art work. I was at the door and demanded people to pay a one euro entrance fee, including my friends, the professors of the Academy, the critics writing about the show and the gallerists looking for new talent. Most of the people didn't enter. It was my declaration of insolence - my fellow graduates would have paid a lot to any art world professionals for having a glimpse of their work.

Thenceforwards, that has been my irreverent attitude and maybe the main reason why I'm still not an art star. John Ruskin, the leading English art critic of the Victorian era, wrote in his book Modern Painters (1843) that in general, pride is at the bottom of all great mistakes. For ten years, I've been dedicated to make all the possible mistakes in the art world - in order that other artist can occupy themselves in ass-licking the powerful buttocks.

Thanks and sorry.

The Spanish summer heat invades my studio and I'm painting ice cream, the season's delicacy par execellence. Ice cream is malleable smoothly textured semi-solid foam that is produced in uncountable different flavors varying from the basic mud cake and stracciatella to the more surprising octopus and chocolate with garlic (opinion of Rachel, 8: It tastes like poop. How could you live with yourself if you made that ice cream?). I've been inventing also new savors like Belarusian banana split. Alexander Lukashenko, president of Belarus, once said: In our country, there will be no pink or orange, or even banana revolution. Summertime uprisings should be named after frozen desserts.

I did a series of ice cream flavor aquarelles when I was studying in the Academy of Fine Arts, Helsinki, over ten years ago. Some people have recently blamed me repeating old themes but I find it absorbing. The German superhero painter Georg Baselitz painted new versions of his most famous paintings and titled them Remix. I think that's what I've been doing always: mashing up pictures I find and sampling it with my oeuvre.

I was surprised that the Finnish media got so interested in my idea of signing some Spanish national debt papers and selling them as my art works. Taloussanomat, Finland's biggest online daily business newspaper, published yesterday an article based on my blog post and I was also interviewed live in radio. Finland is a small country of only five million people and it's a kind of funny how easy it's to get media attention. The downside of the tiny size of the population (and the economy) is that the fame in Finland doesn't mean selling any works. If I had that level of fame in Spain where I live, I would be a millionaire.

The most interesting thing was to read the readers' comments on Taloussanomat website. Many people feel that it's legitimate to question art and artists. I think it's good. In my opinion, we should raise doubts about the economy the same way. It seems that the capitalists and the politicians want us to believe that the economy is so complex that the normal citizens can't argue about it. How could we question the capitalism if we don't even understand its mechanisms? When priests gave sermons in Latin, most people didn't understand anything. Making things cryptic is a form of power. This is what our leaders and exploiters are doing with the economy, which is much more simpler than we ever imagined.

I'm thinking about buying some Spanish government national debt. Nobody seems to want it, the interests are going alarmingly high and the economy of the country is about to collapse.

Actually, my idea is neither to invest with a big risk nor help the country where I live but do some art works. I phoned to the Tesoro Público and was told that I get stylish documents of the letras, bonos and obligaciones I buy. My idea is to sign and frame them and then sell to my collectors. It's a win-win-win game. Spain wins, I win and the collector wins whatever happens with the Spanish economy.

Great artists don’t create – they destroy.

Art is a weapon and the weapons can change the world.

Good art is irreverent, excessive, controversial, incorrect, irritating, ironic, bad behaving, playful and beautiful or ugly.

Painting is neither dinner party nor a bed of roses. Painting is a struggle to the death between the future and the past.

Turbo Realism is an artistic practice of centrifugal compression powered by the high speed capitalism.

In a perfect world there would be no need for art.

Two bombs, probably set by Islamist armed groups, killed tens of people this morning in Damascus. The Western media calls them "terrorist attacks" with quotation marks. When the Islamists hit New York, London or Madrid, the acts of violence are called terrorist attacks without quotes. This is a perfect example of orientalism showing that from the Western point of view Middle Eastern people, Arabs and Syrians are just so-called "human beings".

The orientalism describes the pervasive Western tradition, both academic and artistic, of prejudiced outsider interpretations of the East, shaped by the attitudes of European imperalism. Arabs in the Western popular culture are portrayed as bombers, billionaires or belly dancers. This is called the three B syndrome. The Arab men are depicted as terrorist or as wealthy oilmen and Arab women are portrayed as sex objects waiting to be freed by Western alpha males.

Arab Street Hookers is an American pornographic website that makes clear the Westerners' attitude.

Searching through an Arab house we came upon a dirty bitch who was in the process of creating a bomb. We had to stop her at all costs so we got her to strip down to see if she was hiding anything else. She wouldn't stop talking so we had to shut her up some how. We shoved a big American cock in her mouth and then we taught this bitch a lesson.

There is nothing better than taking a sheltered Arab bitch and showing her what she's really good for a fuck. We found Fatna causing problems protesting in our neighborhood, we couldn't have that so we got her to sit down so we could talk to her and get her to understand. We got her to get down on her knees and suck a big American cock for the first time, she got the point, and she got it hard.

Salma hates Americans, so the Boss and Mr. Bruno, get an Arab bitch to teach her a lesson. They get her into an apartment, and keep her there till she agrees to fuck Alan, the resident American stud from Alabama. This busty babe gets to sucks and gag on Alan's horse cock. Then her virgin pussy gets violated and she loves it, screaming in delight. Fuck Ala and lets have cock she says in Arabic. After getting creamed, she plays with the cum and swallows. Now she is happy and trained to fuck Americans.

I'm painting in the studio and listening to the radio and strangely all the songs are about painting.

I heard he painted a good piece / I heard he had style / And so I came to see him / And look for a while / And there he was this old man / A stranger to my eyes / I felt all flushed with fever / Embarrassed by the crowd / I felt he found my dreams / And showed each one out now / I prayed that he would finish / But he just kept right on / Strumming my pain with his brushes / Painting my life with his colors / Killing me softly with his painting / Killing me softly with his painting / Showing my whole life with his colors / Killing me softly with his painting.

And then after some payday loan ads:

I can't get / Any rest / People say / I'm obsessed / Every-thing / That's serious last / But to me / There's no surprise / What I have / Fatal last truth / Things go wrong / They always do / Painting drives me crazy / Uh uh /Like nothing else / Uh uh / Painting drives me crazy / And I can't help myself / Uh uh.

I love meatballs. When I'm a successful and filthy rich artist, I'll open a restaurant serving exclusively at least 100 varieties of meatballs from every corner of the world.

In 2003 I drew Meatballs with Chocolate - now it's in the permanent collection of MoMA, New York. Today I'm drawing a Hummer truck equipped with a meatball launcher. It's ammo includes (this is also a sketch for the menu of my future restaurante):

Albóndiga, Almondega, Bakso, Ballekes, Bola-bola, Bitki, Bouletten, Chiftela, Cufta, Faggot, Fasirt, Fleischlaibchen, Frikkadel, Gehaktbal, Gofte, Gondi, Hanbagu, Happy balls, Kafta, Kal-e gonjeshki, Keftes, Kjottkaker, Kofta, Köfte, Kofteh, Königsberger Klopse, Klopsy, Köttbulla, Kufta, Kufteh, Kyufta, Lihapulla, Lion's head, Májgombóc, Mititei, Qofte, Parjoale, Pentol, Polpette, Pulpety, Sixi wanzi, Soutzoukakia, Sossklopse, Thit Vien, Tsukune, Yuvarlak.