The More Horrible This World

To Emphasize Only The Beautiful Seems To Me To Be Like A Mathematical System That Only Concerns Itself With Positive Numbers.

An Active Line On A Walk, Moving Freely, Without Goal. A Walk For A Walk's Sake.

Every Artist Would Like To Live In The Central Organ Of Creation... Not All Are Destined To Get There... But Our Beating Hearts Drive Us Deep Down, Right Into The Pit Of Creation.

From The Root, The Sap Rises Up Into The Artist, Flows Through Him, Flows To His Eye. Overwhelmed And Activated By The Force Of The Current, He Conveys His Vision Into His Work. And Yet, Standing At His Appointed Place As The Trunk Of The Tree, He Does Nothing Other Than Gather And Pass On What Rises From The Depths. He Neither Serves Nor Commands He Transmits. His Position Is Humble. And The Beauty At The Crown Is Not His Own; It Has Merely Passed Through Him.

You Adapt Yourself To The Contents Of The Paintbox.