Art cannot be about realism. Realism is everything but reality. Art cannot be about any kind of "ism". Art is an opening, a passage, a way, a door, an invitation, a call, an aspiration. Art is not a ready-made answer, a formula of the world, an equation of the self. Art is not an explanation, the result of a calculation, a judgment or an appreciation. Art calls, attracts, magnetizes what is beyond the word, beyond definition, beyond the form, beyond the visible.
I solemnly give up my pride to try and attach meaning, define the experience, confine life into a reduced miniature symbolic and mummified altar of the sensical. I here and now resign. I put down the weapons of the horsed man and surrender to the mothers of creation all my illness and my petrified desire to fence the world out of me.
May the line, may the dot, may the hues and the shadows on the canvas be the resonance of that which is beyond control, that which pulsates above and below, that which smiles birds of light, that which only is.