Right next to Pusher Street, in “The Freetown of Christiania,” in Copenhagen, on one of the walls there is a painting. It shows a young guy, greatly enlarged. He appears in semi-profile, from the shoulders upwards, the dark blue hood of the parka slightly raised. Exposed to the elements, out in the open, with his eyes shut, his front somewhat folded and the cheeks faintly rosy from exhaustion, he voluptuously thrusts out a big bluish cloud of smoke. That cloud has always startled me. I still dodge before its obstinacy, its importunate emergence out of a shapely, still enigmatic oral cavity. The mural is well executed in a virtuously pursued photographic realism, thus destabilising the heavy brick façade in a different way than the surrounding graffiti and flower power paintings. Clouds are complicated also in terms of painting technique; it is tricky to represent blurriness in detail, difficult to create that much coveted “trompe l’oeil” effect which seduces the eye to accept the three-dimensionality, suspending even the tiniest touch of disbelief.