I’ll start with a serious jeu d’esprit: I have come recently to define my work as “Cubist—of the Cuba kind,” i.e. with an underworld connection to Haiti and voodoo. I do pick up, of course, on some of Picasso’s “synthetic cubism” experiments, as opposed to his “analytic” ones, though some of those also invoke voodoo implications. And I include in this both my theater work (Pantheatre—choreographic theater and voice performance) and my recent return to painting.
A cubist jump; I am hesitating to buy a book on Gilles Deleuze by Christian Kerslake (it costs a fortune!) titled Deleuze and the Unconscious—after reading a superb article of his talk about “historicism”—titled “The Somnambulist and the Hermaphrodite: Deleuze and Johann de Montereggio and Occultism.”
I have resisted studying Lacan, unwilling (and ill-willing, probably) to spend time on his hyper-cryptic linguistic knots and his seemingly buffoonish “scientificity,” but