There are two things I want to say about Aurélien Lefort and here they are in no particular order.
The first concerns his labels, each as if drawn by a genius doodling fine-lined the unwinding of the labyrinth of the mind in paper margins with spacecraft precision its runaway monsters and underground suns. Hieronymous Bosch sky burials event horizon heavy falcon full engines blast through black
hole energy. Insane messages scratched out by ravaged wingtip with
ketamine clarity, NDE-lucidity. Francis Bacon rib cages and dino-boned claws
arranged methodically, algebraically, madly; urgent warnings left in black
quill tip hint at the wine's liquid intensity. Cryptic script left by those
before the known cosmic order in machine language and jester diamonds, traces
of minotaur mazes filled with frightened winged things captured in scratchy
lithograph Expressionist madness and the second thing is: his sound system is
amazing.
— Visit April 2 2019. Madriat, Auvergne.
