ABSTRACT
79Francis Bacon's studio floor is an anarchic goldmine of torn scraps, paint-spattered newspaper cuttings, ripped open books and folded photographs (interestingly, none of which were actually taken by Bacon). Transferred in every detail from London to Dublin, it still exists as a creation in itself, a glorious testament to an eclectic eye and to the ability of the mundane to inspire great art. Every artist needs a jumping-off point, something (or, often, someone) to make them lift a brush or a guitar or a laptop. The gathering of actual ephemera, as Bacon did, or of photographs, scans or other potential subjects is a delight and a lifelong obsession. Of itself it will inspire you.
