Sometimes, dreams are feverish, crazy, strange… You wake up feeling different, blown away by what you’ve experienced, relieved to awake, but sad because you’re not sure you can ever return. Miss Kō is exactly that, only that, especially that. A fantasy that has been conceived from scratch, a exquisite corpse inspired by Asia, a crazy collage where you run headlong into a far-distant court of miracles, in a street straight out of Blade Runner, where creative madness knows no limits, where performers know no boundaries, where technology reveals a thrilling prospect of the future and where industry becomes art. The David Rochline portrait of the enigmatic Miss Kō reigns over an anarchic world of cooks yelling through the steam of their kitchen, of bottles of washing-up liquid from Wonderland, of acid-fuelled aquarium frescos, and of monstrously oversize, overbright teapots. A profusion of incomprehensible signs that could well be Asian. An infinite exaggeration of information – should that be disinformation – screens. In the world of Miss Kō, nothing is normal, not even us. It’s contagious.