I saw last night on a bbc iplayer a 93 year old man crying about the father he lost over 80 years ago. Then I watched the Alan Yentob: Imagine: Louise Bourgeois from 2008. It was late so I slept on it. This morning I partly listened to radio interviews of women who made the punk scene of London in the early 70s. I finished the washing-up and started thinking. the women liberation, the so-called Feminist Movement had nothing to do with women. The human race was ready to express its anxiety as to its coming about. Sex was just a way of demonstrating that all links could be sectioned off at any time while new one could be created. I think men wanted to shout at the established order too. That's why they invented the electric guitar and the synthesizer, no? anyhow, I am not going to talk about what I don't know. It's just that I got my comforter out of its box and dusted  this small piece of rusted metal found on the side of a railway 20 years ago. At time it can look like human feces. So when at look at this picture for example, I wonder what made artists use pooh to express themselves. Last year I saw an excellent show of Luke Fowler at the Serpentine and I could watch his fascinating documentary shown on multiples screens with some photographs of rebel psychiatrist R.D. Laing' s refuge Kingsley Hall in London. One of the most disturbed resident spent 3 months smearing the walls of her room with her shit. She felt better for it and started recovering slightly. Not particularly that bit but I adored that film. I'm going to befriend this rusty metal part again. As an homage to Louise Bourgeois.
         "I had a flashback of something that never existed"
Then I will work at something in homage to Martin Kipperberger. And may be then I will have find a way to do something for my beautiful Grand-mother. Not scatological! May be something with chicken feathers, old cast irons and quince. Roll on Pan F.

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