Everything Vanishes Round Me And Good Works

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?

Be Winged Arrows Aiming At Fulfillment And Goal.

One Eye Sees, The Other Feels.

Everything Vanishes Around Me, And Works Are Born As If Out Of The Void. Ripe, Graphic Fruits Fall Off. My Hand Has Become The Obedient Instrument Of A Remote Will.

The Creation Lives As Genesis Beneath The Visible Surface Of The Work. All Intelligent People See This After The Fact, But Only The Creative See It Before The Fact - In The Future.