The Way To Form Transcends Its Own

I Paint In Order Not To Cry.

In Earlier Days, Even As A Child, The Beauty Of Landscapes Was Quite Clear To Me. A Background For The Soul's Moods. Now Dangerous Moments Occur When Nature Tries To Devour Me; At Such Times I Am Annihilated, But At Peace. This Would Be Fine For Old People But I... I Am My Life's Debtor, For I Have Given Promises.

My Mirror Probes Down To The Heart. I Write Words On The Forehead And Around The Corners Of The Mouth. My Human Faces Are Truer Than The Real Ones.

Democracy With Its Semi-civilization Sincerely Cherishes Junk. The Artists Power Should Be Spiritual. But The Power Of The Majority Is Material. When These Worlds Meet Occasionally, It Is Pure Coincidence.

My Hand Has Become The Obedient Instrument Of A Remote Will.