Oh gleaming spinning world whose friction with the fiery air sent the wind colors into the clouds. Beyond the reach of artists who can only paint bits of plywood with futile hopes of accomplishing a whimper in comparison.
Dear Miro, Kandinsky, Calder and Klee,
I’m sorry. I’ve tried my best, and thanks to you I’ve made something. Even if it ends up in the dumpster, I’m glad to have listened to your muses.