:: worth a thousand words ::
The Kiss/Gustav Klimt
back then i knew not why i paid attention to the little cardboard strand keeping an abyss in between pages.__back then it seemed of no importance that a certain combination of influences and tremendously hard-studied gestures could come into scene at the same time, i did not wish to analyze the meaning of all those components, of the life and power they conveyed, of the thrill and angst that made that possible.__back then an image was just an image.
now i can't evade the fact that i have above all a graphic memory, that my life seems to work its way through the simpleness of the ambiguity of the lines i can no longer create.__now, it seems, there is no escape to the hypnotic effect of dilated pupils and overpowered tremor of the hands.__i am submerged in a world of meanings when i crave to simply contemplate and dilute into the passionate thrill of that
that is at arms-length.
coming in through my ears::little voices in my head telling me to take a pencil and let go