How Could One Be In This World

Without Form, Communication Stops... Without Form, You Have Everybody Burbling On To Themselves, Whenever And However, Things That No One Else Can Understand And - Rightly - No One Else Is Interested In.

The Photograph Is The Only Picture That Can Truly Convey Information, Even If It Is Technically Faulty And The Object Can Barely Be Identified. A Painting Of A Murder Is Of No Interest Whatever; But A Photograph Of A Murder Fascinates Everyone.

Politicians Are Nauseating By Definition... They Can Produce Nothing, Neither A Loaf Of Bread Nor A Table Nor A Picture; And This Inability To Create Value, This Total Inferiority, Makes Them Jealous, Vengeful, Insolent And A Menace To Life And Limb.

I'm Never Really Sure What That Word Means, But However Inaccurately I Use It, 'classical' Was Always My Ideal, As Long As I Can Remember, And Something Of That Has Always Stayed With Me, To This Day. Of Course, There Were Difficulties, Because In Comparison To My Ideal, I Didn't Even Come Close.

Of Course I Constantly Despair At My Own Incapacity, At The Impossibility Of Ever Accomplishing Anything, Of Painting A Valid, True Picture Or Even Knowing What Such A Thing Ought To Look Like. But Then I Always Have The Hope That, If I Persevere, It Might One Day Happen. And This Hope Is Nurtured Every Time Something Appears, A Scattered, Partial, Initial Hint Of Something Which Reminds Me Of What I Long For, Or Which Conveys A Hint Of It – Although Often Enough I Have Been Fooled By A Momentary Glimpse That Then Vanishes, Leaving Behind Only The Usual Thing.