Nobody can argue me out of it—especially with visual facts—simply because the Old High Moderns have a relentlessly firm grasp on my perceptual understanding and my cultural-memory-in-the-present. I say the small, red, wrecked event in the photo at the left is a crashed airplane. I say this because any other, perhaps more sensible interpretation has been denied me thanks to the belligerent power of the Max Ernst Garden-Airplane Trap paintings from 1935. The red painted boards with the calligraphy at the right are, for me, the raw material that will form the edges/boundaries/walls of the “garden” within which the airplane’s carcass will come to reside. It will be an anti-aircraft museum.
