lunes, 31 de mayo de 2010


Pardon me, I call myself artist for want of a better term. There is nothing self-evident in my creative work except the compulsion to do it.
Through no intent of my own, I have been pointed out as something apart, a five-legged calf, a monster.
I have never fought for that position, nor do I do so now to keep it. Yet I may well at times have felt the winds of megalomania sweep across my brow, but I believe myself to be immune.
I need only for one second to remind myself of the utter unimportance of art in the human world, in order to cool myself down again.
But that doesn't mean the compulsion does not remain.

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