I Was Not Ready For Abstraction. I

Oh, I Wonder If I Will Ever Feel The Burst Of Birth-joy, That Knowing That The Indescribable, Joyous Thing That Has Wooed And Wond Me Has Passed Through My Life And Produced One Atom Of The Great Reality.

Sometimes I Could Quit Paint And Take To Charring. It Must Be Fine To Clean Perfectly, To Shine And Polish And Know That It Could Not Be Done Better. In Painting That Never Occurs.

As The Woods Are The Same, The Trees Standing In Their Places, The Rocks And The Earth... They Are Always Different Too, As Lights And Shadows And Seasons And Moods Pass Through Them.

Don't Take What Someone Else Has Made Sure Of And Pretend It's You Yourself That Have Made Sure Of It Till It's Yours Absolutely By Conviction. It's Stealing To Take It And Hypocrisy And You'll Fall Into A Hole.

When You Really Think About Your Hand You Begin To Realize Its Connection, To Sense The Hum Of Your Own Being Passing Through It. When We Look At A Piece Of The Universe We Should Feel The Same.