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Whilst studying in Paris in the late 1970s, I had an affair with an older woman. At times when I needed to escape its intensity, I would walk to the flea market at Porte de Clignancourt, which is where I found this photograph. What I particularly like about it is the poor cropping which allows us to see beyond the backdrop to the woman. It offers a cautionary tale to artists, warning that reality has an unruly habit of disrupting our symmetrical phantasies, and, as if further proof were required, this text is completed on my hospital bed, from where neither art nor the past can rescue me. |
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