My Art Is Not Abstract, It Lives

Look, It's My Misery That I Have To Paint This Kind Of Painting, It's Your Misery That You Have To Love It, And The Price Of The Misery Is Thirteen Hundred And Fifty Dollars.

A Picture Lives By Companionship, Expanding And Quickening In The Eyes Of The Sensitive Observer. It Dies By The Same Token. It Is Therefore Risky To Send It Out Into The World. How Often It Must Be Impaired By The Eyes Of The Unfeeling And The Cruelty Of The Impotent.

I Use Colors That Have Already Been Experienced Through The Light Of Day And Through The State Of Mind Of The Total Man. In Other Words, My Colors Are Not Colors That Are Laboratory Tools Which Are Isolated From All Accidentals Or Impurities So That They Have A Specified Identity Or Purity.

And Last, It May Be Worthwhile Trying To Hang Something Beyond The Partial Wall Because Some Of The Pictures Do Very Well In A Confined Space.

The Abstract Artist Has Given Material Existence To Many Unseen Worlds And Tempi.