The Pictorial Work Was Born

Chosen Are Those Artists Who Penetrate To The Region Of That Secret Place Where Primeval Power Nurtures All Evolution. There, Where The Powerhouse Of All Time And Space Call It Brain Or Heart Of Creation Activates Every Function, Who Is The Artist Who Would Not Dwell There?

The Way To Form Transcends Its Own Destination, Goes Beyond The End Of The Way Itself.

All Art Is A Memory Of Age-old Things, Dark Things, Whose Fragments Live On In The Artist.

Light And The Rational Forms Are Locked In Combat; Light Sets Them Into Motion, Bends What Is Straight, Makes Parallels Oval, Inscribes Circles In The Intervals, Makes The Intervals Active.

Everything Vanishes Round Me And Good Works Rise From Me Of Their Own Accord.