I dreamed last night that Bill Howe and I were walking along a quiet street in Prague, with an old red-brick wall to our left, about six feet high, in poor repair, with weeds sprouting from it in places, and a narrow grassy strip at its base. (Although Prague, it was more like a bombsite post-war English city.) We encountered Radim Němeček, of the Czech-Slovak Surrealist Group, who was sitting by the wall, leafing through some sketchbooks, photographs, papers, etc. We chatted with Radim about what he was doing and it transpired he was sorting through some documents in preparation for an exhibition he was curating with Kateřina Piňosová. The basis for the exhibition was a particular approach to creativity that they had come up with, taking a lead from the photographer Blazek, but with an anonymous ‘collective identity’ under which the work was carried out. Radim explained excitedly to us that the new work was to classified as being by ‘Dada’s Sister’ and showed us some charcoal drawings that they had executed, based on frottages over stone, somewhat like mediumistic drawings. He told us that they had also been making ‘Dada’s Sister’ objects, indicating that some of them were above us. Bill and I realised that we would need to climb the wall and found an accessible point a few yards further on. We scrambled up to find that we were standing on elevated scrubby ground, about 100 yards in length and 30 yards in width, level with the top of the wall. On this quite classic atopos area we found: a white wardrobe with a broken mirror, from which shrubbery protruded; a desk on which were arranged found objects, brass animals, ugly ornaments, framed photographs; a table set for dinner with old, tarnished cutlery. After wandering around looking at the ‘Dada’s Sister’ objects, we climbed back down onto the street and saw that Radim was sitting under a dripping pipe, become quite wet, but unperturbed; it was as if he was subjecting himself to a Chinese water torture, for some inexplicable reason, but related to the ‘Dada’s Sister’ phenomenon. After attempting to find something to eat nearby, in a North African area (not dissimilar to La Goutte d’Or in Paris), we realised we needed to catch a bus, as time was running short. Having more Czech than I, and knowing Prague very well, Bill made sure we caught the correct bus and paid the fares. The bus took us on what seemed to me a circuitous route, travelling the length of Prague’s seafront, passing through an industrialised port area, then along the promenade and into the centre.

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