One is straight away struck by the paucity of words availed to expound this chanced-upon poiesis born in the crevasses of cultural hybridity and nourished in the no man's lands of ascetic transmutation...

Yves Klein

On the beach at Nice. Iris [Clert], Yves Klein and me. Iris, to annoy Yves, praises my legs incessantly. After five minutes he stands: "I go, I've enough of this sea, this sky. All blue, my blue! I am copied, blue, blue..."

Sur la plage à Nice, Iris, Yves Klein et moi. Iris pour énerver Yves ne cesse de me complimenter sur mes jambes. Au bout de cinq minutes Yves se lève: "On s'en va, j'en ai assez, cette mer, ce ciel. Tout ce bleu, c'est mon bleu! On me copie, le bleu, le bleu..."
(Laubies, 2001.)

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