Ah, those nihilistic avant-gardes!

Delving into a grand study of "Modernism" (and very quickly doubting the appropriateness of such a term), I am finding very interesting and confusing professions of youth, energy, passion, and recklessness.

Enthralling, you can imagine.

I write this as preface to my trip to the Tate Museum of Modern Art. Looking forward to perusing such meaning-divorced works as Marcel Duchamp's "Fountain"



and perhaps a quick gander at some "poem objects" of Andre Breton--an early Dadaist and founder of surrealism, well known for his practice in automatic writing (basically stream of consciousness, and equally as crazy):








before finally wending my weary way towards my personal favorite, and our group's Name-Giver--to employ the Scandinavian saga hyphenation completely out of context--Salvador Dali:


You can all be jealous now.


UPDATE:
After the visit, I became really enthralled--as I think did Guadalupe--with Alberto Giancometti. Truly expressive sculptures.