Parade consists of a phantasmagoric procession of images, in which the neon glow of the night-time city conjures up a spate of apparitional figures, circling around the slicked-up silhouette of the artist himself; alighting on, or emanating from, him like phantom projections of his personality. Within this twilit demi monde, which may be entirely a figment of the dandy’s own fevered imagination, clothes take on a heightened importance: as prized commodities and as treasured, almost talismanic objects. This closed circuit of desire and display turns increasingly claustrophobic, as if tracing a compulsive, repetitive groove in the protagonist’s mind; culminating, in a self-consciously solipsistic flourish, in a cool 360-degree pan round the walls of Leckey’s flat.

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