You are right. It
was Dali. Memory malfunction. I slipped in
another thread, too. It was a critic from the New Yorker (whats-his-name) and not Clement Greenberg, who called Jackson's drips
baked macaroni. There was a time when I would have been mortified by these slips.
"To err is human also in so far as animals seldom or never err, or at least only the cleverest of them do so."
Lichtenberg.
I only remember this aphorism (with a little help from our friend the search engine) as it is on the back cover. I hardly ever get beyond the covers of a book. This time, with Georgy-boy, I excelled and managed to read beyond the main title. Hoorah!
I like it and that you build your frame as part of the work.
Well, thank you most kindly, Mademoiselle. ("My damsel"!)
It no longer lives. It died by the hand of the one who created it. It is extinct-er than the Northern White Rhino. When I first saw Robin Banksy's
The Elephant in the Room, I assumed it was a life-size replica of an elephant painted to match the interior of the set, or, in other words, another high profile artist with the spondulicks to recreate whatever their minds desire, and it was, but only with
a living elephant.