My Hand Has Become The Obedient Instrument

I Want To Be As Though New-born, Knowing Nothing, Absolutely Nothing. Then I Want To Do Something Modest; To Work Out By Myself A Tiny, Formal Motive, One That My Pencil Will Be Able To Hold Without Technique.

Light And The Rational Forms Are Locked In Combat; Light Sets Them Into Motion, Bends What Is Straight, Makes Parallels Oval, Inscribes Circles In The Intervals, Makes The Intervals Active.

I Want To Be As Though New-born, Knowing Nothing, Absolutely Nothing About Europe.

In The Final Analysis, A Drawing Simply Is No Longer A Drawing, No Matter How Self-sufficient Its Execution May Be. It Is A Symbol, And The More Profoundly The Imaginary Lines Of Projection Meet Higher Dimensions, The Better.

I Still Come Closest To Success With Drawing.