The Greater The Artist, The Greater The

The Desire To Be Primitive Was Very Much A Function Of Fin-de-siècle Imperialism; It Appealed To Strong Egos And Domineering Minds.

The Greater The Artist, The Greater The Doubt.

When The War (wwi) Finally Ended It Was Necessary For Both Sides To Maintain, Indeed Even To Inflate, The Myth Of Sacrifice So That The Whole Affair Would Not Be Seen For What It Was: A Meaningless Waste Of Millions Of Lives. Logically, If The Flower Of Youth Had Been Cut Down In Flanders, The Survivors Were Not The Flower: The Dead Were Superior To The Traumatized Living. In This Way, The Virtual Destruction Of A Generation Further Increased The Distance Between The Old And The Young, Between The Official And The Unofficial.

A Determined Soul Will Do More With A Rusty Monkey Wrench Than A Loafer Will Accomplish With All The Tools In A Machine Shop.

Drawing Never Dies, It Holds On By The Skin Of Its Teeth, Because The Hunger It Satisfies – The Desire For An Active, Investigative, Manually Vivid Relation With The Things We See And Yearn To Know About – Is Apparently Immortal.