The Gap Between the Makeup and the Face

Thanks to M, I truly appreciate Marcel Duchamp, although I was heading that way when I met him. Thanks to M I play the game, Mornington Crescent. I once walked into a pub in the Hornsey Road where he was deep in conversation with someone. I came up to him on his blind side, said the phrase quietly into his ear, and exited through the other door without a backward glance. He was staggered. It was one of the few times I felt truly able to give something back.

My favourite place of M‘s explication has to be the gap between the makeup and the face. Whenever I see makeup in any prominent striking ugly or beautiful way, I think of the gap. When I see faces in the street which are clearly constructions for convenience and every day use, I think of the gap. When I sense the distance between someone’s outer persona and inner psyche, I think of the gap. When I see makeup running angry black tracks down tearstained cheeks, I think of the gap. When I see a smudge of red on white cotton and know the person who smiles and kisses with those lips is now in another country on another continent half a world away, I think of the gap. Whenever they say on the Underground, “Mind The Gap”, which they do frequently, I think of the gap. But not between the train and the platform. I think of the gap between the makeup and the face.