Now Stiff On A Pillar

For Us Artists There Waits The Joyous Compromise Through Art With All That Wounded Or Defeated Us In Daily Life; In This Way, Not To Evade Destiny, As The Ordinary People Try To Do, But To Fulfil It In Its True Potential - The Imagination.

Religion Is Simply Art Bastardized Out Of All Recognition.

I See Artists As A Great Battalion Moving Through Paint, Words, Music Towards Cosmological Interpretation.

How Grudging Memory Is, And How Bitterly She Clutches The Raw Material Of Her Daily Work.

The Whole Mediterranean, The Sculpture, The Palm, The Gold Beads, The Bearded Heroes, The Wine, The Ideas, The Ships, The Moonlight, The Winged Gorgons, The Bronze Men, The Philosophers - All Of It Seems To Rise In The Sour, Pungent Taste Of These Black Olives Between The Teeth. A Taste Older Than Meat, Older Than Wine. A Taste As Old As Cold Water.