(image by John Cage)
Now folks, just for a moment I'd like you to look away from the model, and I'd like you to close your eyes and imagine how the model might look if she was wearing a space-suit and floating around up there in space, attached umbilically to her mothership, and while the ambient trumpet music that I've provided for you tonight caresses your ears I'd like you to keep your eyes closed, and I want you to dip your index finger into the indian ink, and try to draw for me a tree, all the while keeping in mind the image of the model up there in space; right, now I'd like you to crumple up the paper you've drawn on, and set it alight, letting the paper burn for seven or thirteen or twenty-one seconds (I'll let you choose: art is freedom after all) and then pouring your paint-water over the flames. Now folks, when you uncrumple your paper you will see there an uncanny reflection of the model, or at least, a reflection of how the model has perceived herself in several of her dreams.