Painting Seems Like Impossibility, With

More Than A Process, Painting Is Being Possessed.

To Paint Is Always To Start At The Beginning Again, Yet Being Unable To Avoid The Familiar Arguments About What You See Yourself Painting.

Do I Really Believe That? I Make A Mark, A Few Strokes, I Argue With Myself, Not Do I Like Or Not, But Is It True Or Not? Is That What I Mean, Is That What I Want?

Where Do You Put A Form? It Will Move All Around, Bellow Out And Shrink, And Sometimes It Winds Up Where It Was In The First Place. But At The End It Feels Different, And It Had To Make The Voyage. I Am A Moralist And Cannot Accept What Has Not Been Paid For, Or A Form That Has Not Been Lived Through.

Painting And Sculpture Are Very Archaic Forms. It's The Only Thing Left In Our Industrial Society Where An Individual Alone Can Make Something With Not Just His Own Hands, But Brains, Imagination, Heart Maybe.