All Art Is A Memory Of Age-old

I Must Begin, Not With Hypothesis, But With Specific Instances, No Matter How Minute.

I Want To Be As Though Newborn. To Be Almost Primitive.

The Way To Form Transcends Its Own Destination, Goes Beyond The End Of The Way Itself.

Chosen Are Those Artists Who Penetrate To The Region Of That Secret Place Where Primeval Power Nurtures All Evolution. There, Where The Powerhouse Of All Time And Space Call It Brain Or Heart Of Creation Activates Every Function, Who Is The Artist Who Would Not Dwell There?

My Hand Has Become The Obedient Instrument Of A Remote Will.