texts
by david steel offer an entry
into the fantasy of the paintings. ...
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something
like a jungle exploration...
inside your mind..
.membrane borders give
way and
shiver
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striking
a balance
between
visions of
space and
time:
retreat...to escape the paralysis of immersion
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hope
flies through our souls, unseen
but for a
shimmer on
the horizon
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don´t
fear
the candy-
man, so well-travelled
on the
paths of perpetual wonder, he knows: transcendence
is by nature transitory
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take
a stroll
and ask your-
self: if you
woke up one
day in
paradise,
would you recognize it?
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colors
wither, bleed,
withdraw;
only our
momory, like
a reflection,
dimly captures scraps of
their deflated essence
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we
annoint
certain
moments
with
meaning,
leave others unscathed
- they all
know far
better
than we can imagine...
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twilight
is a
time of
coming and
going,
opening
and closing, passage
under
the spell
of awes
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the
future
lures us
like a
backdrop,
pulling
aside in
the last
moment
to unveil
a yet
deeper
dream |
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daring
to
dive with
our eyes
wide open
we see
the naked
truth:
disquieting, reassuring, indescribable |
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"i
remember being here once, long ago, it was not a dream but
an
expectation, a place i was going to and did not yet know,
but could
clearly see before me..." |
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"there
is a softness which is tough, a coolness which is warm,
a
language which means nothing, a surprise i welcome like
an old
friend..."
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"i
want the world to believe in me, but it does not answer,
this
world of mine i believe in tells me to wait, listening with
an ear
that sees all..." |
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"this
dance is dedicated to that ambassador of the divine called
joy,
we laugh and shine and wish him well, he nods mysteriously
and we are
satisfied" |
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"temple
of my tears, whisper me your sorrows...i will visit you
daily
with gifts of light and wonder...and even as i carry you,
you will
carry me..." |
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"take
the falcon for a short fly around the mountains, will you
honey, then let us drink a glass of that old whistful wine
and watch
the autumn rise..." |
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"because
i live here, i know a beauty masked to the neon blinded,
only a chosen few know the pleasures of sledding down slopes
of
slippery green over the amber sky..." |
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"this
is a map of the mind's eye, follow the light but don't forget
to take in the scenery along the way, call information for
the latest
weather forecast..." |
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"the
root of all joy is beauty: silent, clear, without demand,
presumptuous even, but never vain..." |
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"make
a sound of thankfulness: a song or a groan, a cry or a laugh,
a
departure from your voice, an encounter with immortal ecstasy..."
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