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               The spilled turpentine, the random mask of the brush or a feeling you have in yourself can provoke the beginning of the creation of a painting. Nevertheless, through the process of creation you reach the moment of confusion. You thing that you have lost the painting. And exactly at this moment the inner struggle begins. The struggle to reincarnate it on the canvas at the same time.

               Black and white are not colors. They take part in each chromaticity but as tones of the color. The world is most colorful at the bounds between both. As human beings we feel most alive between the bounds of good and evil in us. Actually there are no bounds. There is the beauty to contemplate everything in its entity. We are Day and Night at the same time.

               What is the picture? When a work is born? I do not know the answer.And whether that my knowledge is needful to draw? Put layer after layer, wash with turpentine again ... Looking change? Plastic materialization of my inner nature if this is the picture makes me a little god who, in his own image and likeness, to entertain turns reifies itself. This is ego. If so, then God is selfish! It could, however, be interpreted in another way. Creations, we shout to the conscious loneliness and cry to God is in us, ie we look through it in us, because we would not suffer loneliness - silence in the silence of space.

               There are many ways to draw a flower. And only one to re-create flowering. Love. Anyway Provida beauty in the overflow of the Day and Night, the sign of the night in our honor, our flame night.