Inadvertent naturalistic calligraphic tendencies of literati colour-field non-figuration whose outcomes exemplify not the expression of the individual or its cult but serve the collective documentation, curation and advancement of ascetic-arts knowledge.

Not for your amusement, but your edification

How do such instances of vital sensibility sustain themselves in the ambiance of memory? Why do they impel us – call attention to themselves – as if private graffiti dragged into the lanes of interfaciality and interspatiality?

What can be supposed of these collectible emissions as if children who demand to be seen and heard, and who denounce curatorial arts as bollix and play at what they do until their made to be sickened by the grovelling Contemporary Art charade and its growing ranks of Tupperware hosts...

What is to be drawn from these ethnographic galleries that mimic trade procedures of an early modern era when ridiculous breeds of men changed hands on the docks of cosmopolitan boomtown ports?

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