…The white wall is a phantasized exoskeleton, not so much a screen memory as a ghostly amnesia. Like the mirage of an army, it dissolves as approached and the redundancy of mortal pigment emerges, shot through with sullied fragments. The ad hoc semantics of pigment scramble intention. The dichotomy of colour and pigment is false and therefore instructive. Fro Newton, of course, all colour joined in the pure concept of whiteness, of light. But we are attracted to the weakness and fragility of the bond of pigment, because we can identify with nothing other than instability. The identification is admittedly a style of taste, but it also improvises a political alignment. We are aligned with a surface.  We exchange mineral components with an historical territory, less like cyborgs than like speaking, ambulatory dirt…