Tag Archives: Artaud

Francis Bacon, Proust and Painting

Bacon, Three Studies for the Base of a Crucifiction

“Nothing touches me, nothing interests me, except what directs itself directly to my flesh” (Artaud, Art and Death)


“this unusable body made out of meat and crazy sperm”
(Artaud, Here Lies)

The rain comes straight down, a curtain of rain outside the window.  A city full of windows and so many contained, fleshy warm and bodied, behind each glass.  Each room a box: window-paned, rain-curtained, enclosing its warm human fruit in degrees of ripeness or decay. Continue reading