I don't know the reasons for my current serenity: good food, good beer, temporary resurgence of rationality, or plain old strength deriving from undying hopes and dreams and fantasies. At any rate, I'm writing these words for your benefit as well as for mine. For a guy who is fond of saying he is direct and forthright, I can be obtuse and oblique.
Your paintings are absolutely beautiful to me. They brought me peace. They are the kinds that I would paint myself if I know how to paint on silk. I like the combination of colors and the shapes. I am not fighting against myself. I am just going with the flow of sentiments and feelings.
I am sitting in the middle of a packed poker room (of Aria Casino), surrounded by hundreds of young players from all over the world along with their beautiful girlfriends dressing in provocative summer attires. My eyes are taking their beauty and vitality but my heart is supremely calm and my body is devoid of carnal longings. That could be I am now an old man or it could be that I don't know these young women, their hearts, their souls, their secret desires and dreams, hence the missing connection between my heart and theirs.
As I was driving to the casino, a thought came to me: humans are deeply driven by the needs for understanding, caring and respect.
A painter is at a higher plane than a verbal artist (poet, writer, singer) because he only communicates through colors and shapes. It's thus much harder to be a painter than a poet. That's why poets always outnumber painters in any society, and at any time in history. A painter is used to silence and concentration and non-verbal symbolism. So when he speaks, he tends to speak very little or a lot.
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