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Toulouse Le Grandfig

Toulouse Le Grandfig, with hat[From the Oxfjord Compendium of Not-So-Good Painters]

Born in Sarlat (France) in 1895, Toulouse Le Grandfig was a minor painter and surrealist writer who’s most important contributions are the dadaist works: “Le singe de vol mange le ciel,” [1922 (“Flying monkey eats the sky”)], and “Singe dans la casserole de cerveau” [1923 “Monkey in the brain pan”)]. Though Grandfig’s paintings were shockingly original, and showed flashes of technical brilliance, he never evolved as the other surrealists did. (He even refused to acknowledge that dadaism was dead, a stance that even Marcel Duchamp found ridiculous by the late 1920s.)

A stern critic of Grandfig, Duchamp once said of him: “If only he were a fucking monkey, then the roto-tiller would certainly ingest my bodily wastes.”

Grandfig’s surrealist autobiography and masterwork is “Ma batte est une cheminee.” [“My bat is a chimney” (Presse De Boue De Porcs, 1937.)] Recently, a previously unpublished collection of photography was uncovered by an aficionado of all things Grandfig, and remains safely obscure in his collection. Little is known of this work, except the title, predictably: “My monkey burns… a holiday in photographs.”
Ed. Note: Grandfig’s dadaist works will no longer remain “safely obscure” as The Skwib has purchased a number of his collections, including “Necrobiblia”.

Other Toulouse Le Grandfig can be found in that category.

From the Necrobiblia collection: Hand-holding | At the bottling plant | Rozie | The Pillage People | How the world ends | At the abbatoir | Gunter tries again | The love that dare not | Catholic school | Alonsy is late | Pure Lain Follies | The Team Picks a Name | The Tradition Continues | Austria, 1912

Alltop cannot be blamed for this. Originally published in 2005, or so legend has it.


  1. “Necrobiblia” should be a pulitzer in there for you with that one.

  2. […] About the Photographer: Toulouse Le Grandfig was a surrealist painter, photographer, writer, and a tremendous watchtower, glistening in the fetid fields of the mind. He ate truffles, magnets and things that made him feel “squingy.” Also, he was a parakeet. […]

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