The Richest Love Is That

All Artists Today Are Expected To Cultivate A Little Fashionable Unhappiness.

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

We Are The Children Of Our Landscape; It Dictates Behavior And Even Thought In The Measure To Which We Are Responsive To It.

A Diary Is The Last Place To Go If You Wish To Seek The Truth About A Person. Nobody Dares To Make The Final Confession To Themselves On Paper: Or At Least, Not About Love.

Somewhere In The Heart Of Experience There Is An Order And A Coherence Which We Might Purprise If We Were Attentive Enough, Loving Enough, Or Patient Enough.