What is all human time but a wave that moistens the burning sand on the shore and then regrets that it left the lake because it has dried up? How can make art unless i see from the inside, subjectively. these planes are the openings in the hoardings to protect passersby from the yawning pits of the excavation, they are also the mirrors reflecting tiny representations of the “savage rendings” of body parts, a memory of the Comtesse d’Haussonville perhaps, or of the profile captured on Picasso’s canvas inserted into Painter and Model