You Adapt Yourself To The Contents Of

Art Does Not Reflect What Is Seen, Rather It Makes The Hidden Visible.

The Beholder's Eye, Which Moves Like An Animal Grazing, Follows Paths Prepared For It In The Picture.

Everything Vanishes Around Me, And Works Are Born As If Out Of The Void. Ripe, Graphic Fruits Fall Off. My Hand Has Become The Obedient Instrument Of A Remote Will.

You Adapt Yourself To The Contents Of The Paintbox.

Becoming Is Superior To Being.