My Art Is Not Abstract, It Lives

Art To Me Is An Anecdote Of The Spirit.

It Is Really A Matter Of Ending This Silence And Solitude, Of Breathing And Stretching One's Arms Again.

The Picture Must Be... A Revelation, An Unexpected And Unprecedented Resolution Of An Eternally Familiar Need.

When I Was A Younger Man, Art Was A Lonely Thing. No Galleries, No Collectors, No Critics, No Money. Yet, It Was A Golden Age, For We All Had Nothing To Lose And A Vision To Gain. Today It Is Not Quite The Same. It Is A Time Of Tons Of Verbiage, Activity, Consumption. Which Condition Is Better For The World At Large I Shall Not Venture To Discuss. But I Do Know, That Many Of Those Who Are Driven To This Life Are Desperately Searching For Those Pockets Of Silence Where We Can Root And Grow. We Must All Hope We Find Them.

The Romantics Were Prompted To Seek Exotic Subjects And To Travel To Far Off Places. They Failed To Realize That, Though The Transcendental Must Involve The Strange And Unfamiliar, Not Everything Strange Or Unfamiliar Is Transcendental.