More than anything, L’AGE D’OR is an assemblage of saturated, unrelenting images, a full frontal assault: the clouds floating in the mirror. Oh. The cow on the bed, chased away, like a dog. The servant girl screaming and falling on the floor to remain motionless, as the room explodes with flames, all ignored by high society, that cannot have their party disrupted. A cleric in full robes; a burning fir tree ablaze so much so, you can hear the crackling echo through the years that separate you from the date the shot was taken; a plough – all being defenestrated by a madman. And then, off course, there is the ubiquitous giraffe.