Piero Manzoni
My surface was eaten out
I am yellow foam with dimples and seals
Nando Vigo
The box I look through is glass
layers of prism in out in out
A silver box with mirrors inside glassed walls
Fontana
The slices are not random
Not a knife
Not a gun shot
It frays on one side of the cut
Like scary teeth as my daughter would say
Not texture not surface
But space
Space in front of my space
Inside my inside
Chiseled from nothing comes a ‘non flat’
Uleck
It is not a penetration but more of a swarm of white nails
Or dusty black nails
Swirling and wooshing like a wave
Arman
Can I open the collection of shiny things
Please? I used to want to when I went over to play at Ella Venet’s loft, all that metal garbage folded into itself.
Here is a work with shiny bits of light bulbs
