The People That Weep Before My Paintings

When I Was A Younger Man, Art Was A Lonely Thing. No Galleries, No Collectors, No Critics, No Money. Yet, It Was A Golden Age, For We All Had Nothing To Lose And A Vision To Gain. Today It Is Not Quite The Same. It Is A Time Of Tons Of Verbiage, Activity, Consumption. Which Condition Is Better For The World At Large I Shall Not Venture To Discuss. But I Do Know, That Many Of Those Who Are Driven To This Life Are Desperately Searching For Those Pockets Of Silence Where We Can Root And Grow. We Must All Hope We Find Them.

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.

If Our Titles Recall The Known Myths Of Antiquity, We Have Used Them Again Because They Are The Eternal Symbols Upon Which We Must Fall Back To Express Basic Psychological Ideas.. ...(they) Express Something Real And Existing In Ourselves.

It Is Really A Matter Of Ending This Silence And Solitude, Of Breathing And Stretching One's Arms Again.

I Don't Express Myself In My Paintings. I Express My Not-self.