

Mystic kind of world this is; lines, shades, shapes that don't know what they wanna be, settling upon the canvas like sudden appearing pieces of memories - sometimes silently, then loudly roaring, scratchy yellows, rakish turquoise, mingling and marching from infinity to somewhere. After so many ruined ranches and romantic forests, that is to say realistic objects, I am looking for adventures in this other world to my pleasure. Passing moods organized into bizarre forms stumbling upon surprising tones - finally all clinging together find a strange balance and create their own harmony. They aren't similar to usual forms. They live their own lives, winking at the openminded viewer. Freedom is illusory, chaos demands strict order... Concious coincidence. Exciting just like life itself.
