The artist at his best is a being doomed to torment. During his life among us, he sees what we do not see, and is miserable by the passerby whom we do not care about. He searches for his salvation in a kingdom that is decorated with dreams and provided with temptation, and there he exchanges his torment for the worst of torment. One foot is stubbornly held by the course of life between us, and the other is stretched out in a dream to the land of the impossible, and between these two banks he remains crucified on a third bank, torn between striving and disappointment of hope, so he bursts into screams and the noise of complaint in the hope that his message will mislead us with his last breath. There is an impossibility of connection between us and him. He speaks in a language whose vocabulary is color, line, light, shadow, and the juxtaposition of shapes and colors in harmony or conflict, and we respond to him in a language whose vocabulary is letters. His language is able to capture the glow of human experience, and our language is rigid on the borders of description in the best of cases. If it exceeds it, it extinguishes the glow and disappears whatever sparkle it contains. Let's try again...in a different way...!
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