In 1994, my friend, the writer Chloe Aridjis, took a photograph of Carrington, aged seventy-seven, steely and alert, at her home in Mexico City. Sheâs standing next to one of her sculptures, which, Chloe explains, Leonora called ING (c.1994) âas in cook-ing, paint-ing, see-ing: a sort of Golem figure, it represented the verb incarnate. In her world, everything might possess a soul; even grammar becomes an entity.â Chloe remembered that, as they sat having tea, the pots and pans hanging behind Leonora cast shadows that evoked âclaws, shovels, tridents, horned creaturesâ. They were, she felt, âimbued with a Fantasia sorcererâs potentialâ and she âhalf expected them to come alive and start marching aroundâ. âIâve always had access to other worlds,â Carrington said. âWe all do because we dream.â
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The Other Side (Jennifer Higgie)






















