Piet Mondrian. Without wanting to denigrate one of the masters of neo-plasticism, let's go ahead shall we?
Ciné-Club has bust her leg skiing, so this afternoon we decided to avail ourselves of the disability services at the Centre Pompidou and rent a wheelchair. I know, she's never been in a car with me, that's why.
I'm going to tell you that the architecture section is very interesting, and I have the utmost respect for someone who is said to have influenced architectural legend Mies van der Rohe. However, based on the way Mondrian meticulously placed his squares in each of his paintings and even throughout his apartment (reproduced for your perusal as part of the exhibition), I'd put money on the fact that this is not the kind of man whose going to bend you over the kitchen table and ravish you. I'm just saying, on Valentine's Day he'll be folding his socks in the corner whilst you prance around the kitchen in your underwear. Kind of how I imagine having sex with an accountant, which is pretty much what this exhibition felt like.
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