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poliphilo Once upon a time there was a part-work magazine called The Masters. Each issue featured a collection of nice big colour reproductions of art by a famous painter plus a monograph by someone appropriate. For Leonardo da Vinci they decided they couldn't do better than reprint the late 19th century essay by Walter Pater- which is one of the glories of English prose. Anyway, in my dream it had started up again, only they were doing it on the cheap and the paper was grotty and they were having it printed by the people who print The Radio Times. The first issue featured a contemporary artist called Low who painted dim grey pictures of uninteresting subjects. Apparently he was thought to be very great only I wasn't so sure.
Low was also a chef- and buying the magazine involved you in eating a multi-course meal he'd prepared that looked splendid but tasted of nothing very much. "This is just like the food you get in dreams" I thought. And the remakable thing is I failed to take that further step in cognition and conclude, "So this must be a dream I'm having." It was a missed opportunity to go lucid- and I could kick myself.
Low was also a chef- and buying the magazine involved you in eating a multi-course meal he'd prepared that looked splendid but tasted of nothing very much. "This is just like the food you get in dreams" I thought. And the remakable thing is I failed to take that further step in cognition and conclude, "So this must be a dream I'm having." It was a missed opportunity to go lucid- and I could kick myself.
