As The New Work Fills My Notebooks,

I Always Feel That There Is A Curtain, You Know, That If I Could Just Peek Behind The Curtain I'd See How The World Really Works. And Since I Haven't Had It I Have To Write About It Instead.

The Real Trouble Comes From Not Knowing What We Really Want In The First Place.

She Knew This Music--knew It Down To The Very Core Of Her Being--but She Had Never Heard It Before. Unfamiliar, It Had Still Always Been There Inside Her, Waiting To Be Woken. It Grew From The Core Of Mystery That Gives A Secret Its Special Delight, Religion Its Awe. It Demanded To Be Accepted By Simple Faith, Not Dissected Or Questioned, And At The Same Time, It Begged To Be Doubted And Probed.

People Want To Know Those Details. They Think It Gives Them Greater Insight Into A Piece Of Art, But When They Approach A Painting In Such A Manner, They Are Belittling Both The Artist’s Work And Their Own Ability To Experience It. Each Painting I Do Says Everything I Want To Say On Its Subject And In Terms Of That Painting, And Not All The Trivia In The World Concerning My Private Life Will Give The Viewer More Insight Into It Than What Hangs There Before Their Eyes. Frankly, As Far As I’m Concerned, Even Titling A Work Is An Unnecessary Concession.

Thing Is, While I Know Better, I Like Sounding Ignorant. Talk Like This And People Figure You're About As Dumb As A Fencepost, Which Suits Me Fine. Makes It All That Much Easier To Take Advantage Of 'em.