A Young Man Who Is Unable To

Seek Art And Abstraction In Nature By Dreaming In The Presence Of It.

Night Is Here. All Is At Rest. My Eyes Close In Order To See Without Actually Understanding The Dream That Flees Before Men Infinite Space; And I Experience The Languorous Sensation Produced By The Mournful Procession Of My Hopes.

Where Do We Come From? What Are We? Where Are We Going?

Today One Can Dare Anything, And, Furthermore, Nobody Is Surprised.

Machines Have Come, Art Has Fled, And I Am Far From Thinking Photography Can Help Us.