Art is gushing hot bile on the fields and harvesting the looks of nasty dwarfs.
My picture-poems are linguistic margins on visual atolls.
Writing without making mistakes is like vomiting hot air.
Color will play no part in the art of future.
The white room is an interior to be made devoid of any specific sensualism emanated by objects. Ultimately it is classic white canvas expanded into three-dimensional space.
You become an artist to upset your family.