We All Are Born Mad. Some Remain

Silence And Darkness Were All I Craved. Well, I Get A Certain Amount Of Both. They Being One.

To Find A Form That Accommodates The Mess, That Is The Task Of The Artist Now.

Make Sense Who May. I Switch Off.

The Situation Is That Of Him Who Is Helpless, Cannot Act, In The Event Cannot Paint, Since He Is Obliged To Paint. The Act Is Of Him Who, Helpless, Unable To Act, Acts, In The Event Paints, Since He Is Obliged To Paint.

Poets Are The Sense, Philosophers­­ The Intelligence­­ Of Humanity.