I have a photo of André Breton hanging in my shop because since I became interested in surrealism, it became my only god. I'm trying to remember when was I started to feel this "coup de foudre" for him. I think it was after reading "soluble fish" ... This series of hallucinatory images without meaning or a hidden meaning to be discovered, shockeó me. Then came Nadja, the fern's eyes ... eternal wanderer ... I mean, the surrealism changed my life and I want to pass to the four winds. For better or for worse, I am no longer the same. My life changed, I'm happy, I'm obsessive, I believe in the imagination with a compelling devout faith. I realize that not much different from Protestants, Evangelicals and all those sects which came home to preach their bigotry when my mother gently opened the door to them. I'm blinded by your imagination. I collect rare books, read to the French surrealists, I never tire of reading a book and rose again "Oh Violette! Ou la politesse des vegetaux" Lise Deharme, simply because I wonder increasingly strange erotic-maternal relationship maintained by the protagonist with his feet. I am amazed, amazed by the creativity surreal. I love the magazine même surréalisme him "in every edition well maintained. Maldoror tales of Count Lautremont, I extenuate its complexity and beauty. Where are they headed such passion?. They say that André Breton was a man well-mannered gentleman and somewhat dated, kissed the hands of the ladies even though this practice had become demodée. I think he was a man who was in love with love, a man to know. Here I have it hanging on the wall, with his thick lips and look penentrante. I look, I look and it's like really existed!.
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