ARTIST STATEMENT

Artist's statement

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My art emerges without any deliberate intention.  

Not a single stroke is foreseen.  

All are dictated by immediate impulses  

the faintest tremblings of signals  

coming from the depth of my being.  

What proceeds is the gradual emergence  

and recording of unpremeditated imagery.  

This is a mode of expression  

that fully satisfies the eye  

by achieving rhythmic unity.  

What counts is the spontaneous, the impulsive.  

My drawings become what they are.  

Like poetry the lines, the forms rhyme  

and strive to become animated.  

All is constantly changing as it is being created  

and when it is over it goes on changing and living  

according to the state of mind and perception  

of whatever... whoever is looking at it.  

I am not merely the executor of my art  

I live my work!

FORBIDDEN ANGELS

Primal stream

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Stranded on an island called exile  

where the self inflicted pain  

makes the itch of longing remain  

unscratchable ever again!.  

As I wander on primary rocks  

searching for my maker in gratitude  

for stuffing my mind with empty thought  

and an "easy come, easy go" attitude.  

Yet I insist on demanding peace  

without an apocaliptic struggle  

but with a good old primal scream.  

I reach out, longing still  

within the language of stones,  

for a breathe of fresh air,  

as I walk that lonely walk  

up and down in rapid pace  

searching for a place  

where I shall face  

the choice of my own making.  

I have no time to rest  

till the incoming test  

hits me at best  

where it hurts.  

I am here with hope  

to be able to cope  

as the outgoing tide  

will take away and hide  

those turbulent thoughts  

while voices keep on falling  

from the corner of my eyes  

I can hear the silent cries  

of forbidden angels.

.....................  

EYEPLAY

The puppet had no more  
than two eyes.  
To the ordinary person  
a right & a left eye  
to you and me and to all  
makers and discoverers  
an interior  
&  
an exterior eye.  
To those who demand  
further information...  
an eye which saw from  
the tip of his nose  
to the distant stars  
another eye which saw  
what was within...  
from the tip of his memory  
to the sparkle  
deep in his dreams.  
As for the puppet  
to him there was  
just one eye.  
The meeting point  
of two cycles  
where horizons curve  
into each other  
where the eye  
is the sparkle  
and the sparkle  
the star.  
With this eye  
the puppet played  
towards this eye  
the puppet flowed.  
The eye which was  
his cultivated potentials  
the meaning of  
his never ending search.  
Fulfillment  
contentment  
tranquility.  
As the passing years  
carved wrinkles  
into his face  
the eyes would get  
closer to each other  
until the day  
when  
right at the center  
of his forehead  
where his eyebrows met  
the eyes would eclipse  
and like a cyclone  
the puppet would make  
'enormous sounds of joy'  
 
YYYYyyyyaaaaaalllllllllllppppp!!!

Again and again

Too many things to do  
when you  
waking up to the  
vacuuuuuuuuuuume  
surrounding the nucleus  
of your being  
set aside the dreams  
that only moments ago  
part of your being  
snort twice  
turn arrrrrrroooooooound  
you beast  
you ungrateful  
you undevoted  
thing  
to your past!  
You angel you  
you unresentful  
you unregretable  
you creature  
of the time being you.  
Who may I be  
to pass judgement  
but the echo  
which strikes twice  
and once again  
and again..  
till you turn  
to the other side  
there  
you see  
you do not snort no more.  
Wrapped as you are  
with sorrow and solitude  
well disguised  
in pearls & rubies.  
Busy.. busy ...  
always almost  
carrying messages  
of faith and glory  
from times past  
to times to come.  
No more to say  
not much to do  
but snore again  
as aging wings  
armfuls of them  
from me to you.  

SHADOW PLAY
.............
Shapes and shadows  
all dark and gray  
came out of their windows  
and started to pray  
as I floated along  
in my little spaceship  
thinking to myself  
all time long  
have I done something wrong?.  
Which button must I press  
to relieve my muscles  
from this stress  
which hand should I use  
to stop my hair fall.  
Yellow people in street corners  
asked me which way to go  
and one by one I answered them  
" there's nowhere to go ".  
When I realised I was on Earth  
some strange feeling came up to me  
I uncurled myself all over this place  
and let the grey sleep by me  
and let the streets feed by me  
It felt just fine to be so free.
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