Take a soft pencil and gently rub over the histories of Max Ernst and Tristan Tzara and poor dead Finlay, finally done with fighting. And Cobbing too and the Noigandres, their details effaced by the grain below coming through, opening into endless unbounded vanishing points. Gently. Now do it with the cruelty it takes for actors to strip flesh off an audience and show what they don’t wish seen. Give painless light the coloured loin cloths and glass necklaces of words, whip lashes and threads of lava. Poéticas, an incontinent stain falling from a page, a scribble, a child’s book learning. Harder still, with a calm and furious joy, so that the material of the word breaks in your hand. Finally remove Eve, the only one left to us. Do not stop, work quickly so that you retain nothing and are not tempted to re-read.
- Philip Davenport