
On the Threshold of Liberty
A cannon points across a room whose walls are panelled with samples of the world: sky, wood grain, fire, bells, a woman's torso.

A cannon points across a room whose walls are panelled with samples of the world: sky, wood grain, fire, bells, a woman's torso.

A murdered woman on a divan, a calm man listening to a gramophone, and two men with a club and a net waiting outside the door.

One enormous eye with a cloudy sky for an iris. Whether it is looking out or reflecting back is the question.

A canvas on an easel shows exactly the landscape it is standing in front of, and therefore hides it completely.

Men in bowler hats hang in the sky over the rooftops at even intervals, neither falling nor floating, which is somehow the unsettling part.

A small steam locomotive comes out of a fireplace under the mantel clock, and the room around it is otherwise entirely ordinary.

Magritte called the floating apple a kind of self-portrait, about how much we want to see the thing that is being hidden.

The words under the pipe are correct, since a painting of a pipe is not a pipe, which is the whole and entire joke.