With Us The Disguise Must Be Complete.

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.

There Is More Power In Telling Little Than In Telling All.

It Is The Poet And Philosopher Who Provide The Community Of Objectives In Which The Artist Participates. Their Chief Preoccupation, Like The Artist, Is The Expression In Concrete Form Of Their Notions Of Reality. Like Him, They Deal With The Verities Of Time And Space, Life And Death, And The Heights Of Exaltation As Well As The Depths Of Despair. The Preoccupation With These Eternal Problems Creates A Common Ground Which Transcends The Disparity In The Means Used To Achieve Them.

The Fact That People Break Down And Cry When Confronted With My Pictures Shows That I Can Communicate Those Basic Human Emotions.. The People Who Weep Before My Pictures Are Having The Same Religious Experience I Had When Painting Them. And If You Say You Are Moved Only By Their Color Relationships Then You Miss The Point.

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.