4

In complexity, too, we found a rhythm undulating along the walls. In the furthest room, the ceiling torqued. Every shape sleeps until it is pushed into a behaviour, or placed in an affinity, to confront its neighbour with a cough or a trill on the lips.

Slowly, the painter buried the home’s conventional Euclidean structure under layers of board and plaster. He called his crystalline grotto “a cathedral of erotic misery”. When he was exiled in 1937, he prayed for it from afar.