The Artist Must Have Something To Say,

A World Of Colors On The Palette Remaining... Wandering... On Canvases Still Emerging.

The Artist Must Have Something To Say, For Mastery Over Form Is Not His Goal But Rather The Adapting Of Form To Its Inner Meaning.

Every Work Of Art Is The Child Of Its Time, Often It Is The Mother Of Our Emotions.

Color Is The Keyboard, The Eyes Are The Harmonies, The Soul Is The Piano With Many Strings. The Artist Is The Hand That Plays, Touching One Key Or Another, To Cause Vibrations In The Soul.

The True Work Of Art Is Born From The 'artist': A Mysterious, Enigmatic, And Mystical Creation. It Detaches Itself From Him, It Acquires An Autonomous Life, Becomes A Personality, An Independent Subject, Animated With A Spiritual Breath, The Living Subject Of A Real Existence Of Being.