The contemplative researcher lives aloof from society, a silent and unseen example it would seem. How is he to share his refined sensitivities, his ascetic and indeed aesthetic findings in ways that reveal their hidden purpose?

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 – like private graffiti dragged into the alleyways 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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