Biba Table Lamp

He had a shop, it was a place with an eccentric and decadent style, a bizarre combination of Liberty and Art Deco, where everyone went to buy their clothes. Inside and out an uninhibited set with a certain inclination towards art and living keenly became involved in what was happening. Biba was letting herself go. Going out with him was a helter-skelter adventure that was like letting yourself be carried high by racing clouds that form and break up like reality. Things were starting to work out. There was something moving in the way she was dedicating herself to this experience, the type you could no longer expect. The new experience she’d been having for several months was a shared exercise in inventiveness, which in itself couldn’t guarantee anything extraordinary, but fortunately seemed to make them communicate. An exchange of interplanetary signals. So pure that no ear could hear them. Both were ahead of their times, their relationship with the period seemed to be aslant, out of kilter. But they would live long enough to see what they had anticipated, with their own eyes.