Salvador Dali Was Half Bengali
2 Leswin Place, Stoke Newington, London N16 7NJ
The texture of an unread comic enchants me with the clarity that is against any initial will. A sketch on a napkin can open up to a world of uncharted certainty. The path is forever flexible erupting in a glossory of continuos wave forms. Together we copy and paste a new future and wish for unlimited undos well before the tablet is touched. The reality of our most mundane procedure is the unrealised wish of those that form the basis of our earth. I sprinkle seeds in front of Dali, Bellmer and Ernst shuffling under my mack with an intensity that passes me from this world into the next. I am barely here, pinpointed by the banal conclusion of an outmoded practice. This flatness also implies an analogy with a world of depth which in turn can only be defined by the fabric rendered in some Japanese print. It is graphic, it is alive in the success of the ink's triumph over paper. That surface which we hope will remain ignorant to the image it bares. Hold it up to me facing you so I cannot see what you have drawn and from the depths of another inky blackness I shall exclaim A Tree". Alas, the blueprints for this tool that would revolutionise the role of the draughtsman by making the need for paper obsolete were all lost in a fire."