From deep within the bowels of Forbidden City Studio BLaque ventures into the night, on occasion, slipping through the ether, barely recognisable even to himself. He comes, he plays, he says "fuck you all... I suffer for my art, now it's your turn." Like they ever had a chance. Along the way he has left an eclectic collection of promotional posters as a nod to the performace spaces that have understood his mission, his raison d'étre... and his unique visual language (?) He's bin done doin' them dope thangs