Art is an immortal gift to a mortal being whose very existence depends on his immortal attributes. There is no other animal that feels compelled to create extensions of self reflection. Indeed, there is no other creature known, except for man, which exercises its will to express an abstract inner desire for an apparently illogical and as yet misunderstood enigma.

   To myself, the practice of Art has become interwoven into my being and I look upon it not as a separate entity but as me, as what has molded the pattern of my life. I have come to realize something personal about it, something that explains who I am and what I am about. This something, even though I can’t label it bears the residue of a ‘quest’ extending from a ‘need’ and a ‘desire to know’. It is an anticipation of wisdom, and an excitement toward a discovered thing such as one might in a moment of enlightenment, know all of that moment.