Inspired by Surrealism, Magritte and Brussels. The train journey, with it’s comma’s and comma’s and comma’s.
There was no full stop, only echoes of where I might have been and where I might be going. Wandering the city, my footsteps begin with a purpose, then slowly give way to the free flow staccato movement of no direction, coupled with the chance images that come into my mind. Supposedly chance images, or perhaps by some sort of interior necessity. (Midnight Marriage and The Wedding Breakfast stay in ones mind like they originated there, but of course they did not).
Magritte died in his apartment on 97 Rue de Mimosas at age 69 in 1967. He is buried at the cemetery of Schaerbeek, the final stop.