Fragments

That's why the word pain is part of the word painting

Painting - as I see it - is not more and not less than reflecting reality. Reality defined as everything that we are perceiving through our senses but also through our imagination. Unfortunatly our brain is interpreting the outside world while being part of it.

The process: Start with a blank surface. It is representing your freedom of choice. You decide on material, color, style, composition and of course on the subject. The subject is not so important. The interpretation is important. There are only a few relevant subjects out there, but almost unlimited ways to paint them. The art and pain is to make decisions. Step by step during the process you are forced to make decisions, with each decision limiting yourself, until you face the final question: When is the right moment to stop? You almost never know -  and you created the highest grade of limitation. Painting is creating limitation and reality.

Broken Daisy-Chains

Images of the process are often more interesting than the resulting product. Sameness is conveyed by sameness. Numbers are neutral. They count everything without prejudice. When we are unable to decode data, we read it as pure form. Photographs of photographs remain photographs. Photographs of photographers remain also photographs, even if we consider them as the real thing. To change places is a masterpiece.

Trust your eyes, not the rules

Images of the process are often more interesting than the resulting product. Trust your eyes, not the rules. Sameness is conveyed by sameness. Numbers are neutral. They count everything without prejudice. When we are unable to decode data, we read it as pure form. Photographs of photographs remain photographs. Photographs of photographers remain also photographs, even if we consider them as the real thing. To change places is a masterpiece.

Birds never listen

The birds say, things in a distant last longer. The birds are chained to the sky, they are tweeting all the time: The future is a slow retreat. The future is a muscle you don't have. I'm just listing what comes to my mind. But birds never listen; so bird, speak to my hand! I am no exception of the rule.

First words

Me to play. Use your head, can't you use your head. The end is in the beginning and yet you go on. I wonder. Imagine if a rational being came back to earth. He would raise his face to me. No, no, don't look at me. I'm a busy man, you know. Come on now, what is the object for this invasion? Come on now, come on, present your petition and let me resume my labors. It will be a howling wild day, a hundred by the anemometer. The wind will tear up the dead pines and swep them away. (A bit feeble, that sentence.) He will ask his question. I love the old questions. The old questions, the old answers, there's nothing like them! I can see him still. We had great fun. And then we got used to it.