Seek Art And Abstraction In Nature By

Whatever May Happen The Sun Will Rise Tomorrow As It Rose To-day, Beneficent And Serene.

My Eyes Close And Uncomprehendingly See The Dream In The Infinite Space That Stretches Away, Elusive, Before Me.

Literary Poetry In A Painter Is Something Special, And Is Neither Illustration Nor The Translation Of Writing By Form.

Oh Yes! He Loved Yellow, This Good Vincent, This Painter From Holland - Those Glimmers Of Sunlight Rekindled His Soul, That Abhorred The Fog, That Needed The Warmth.

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