My Mountain Is Dead. As Soon As

There Is Something Bigger Than Fact: The Underlying Spirit, All It Stands For, The Mood, The Vastness, The Wildness.

The Outstanding Event Was The Doing Which I Am Still At. Don't Pickle Me Awayas Done.

I Made Myself Into An Envelope Into Which I Could Thrust My Work Deep, Lick The Flap, Seal It From Everybody.

There Is No Right And Wrong Way To Paint Except Honestly Or Dishonestly. Honestly Is Trying For The Bigger Thing. Dishonestly Is Bluffing And Getting Through A Smattering Of Surface Representation With No Meaning.

Last Night I Dreamed That I Came Face To Face With A Picture I Had Done And Forgotten, A Forest Done In Simple Movement, Just Forms Of Trees Moving In Space. That Is The Third Time I Have Seen Pictures In My Dreams, A Glint Of What I Am Striving To Attain.