Art is the philosophy of death.

The Odyssean Adventure

Chapter One

   Years ago I used to attend a philosophy school based on a subtle blend of Eastern and Western traditions. It was a fascinating if not self orienting experience, to which I owe a great deal for the way it enriched my point of view of life. Most important of all it made my relationship with Art more complex, disturbing and thought provoking.

But it is always here no matter what we do. How wise of the Creator.

and we parly with Time as if we were immortals choosing to discount what death is.

The world of the subconscious is under all things.

   Art has given me a torch…torch bearer to a king. I walk through a maze of people’s feet lighting their way. There is a procession passing, enveloped by a wall of green leaves and purple clematis. Do you think I’m playing God? Does it matter where the question comes from? Whose mind is it that creates…a heart despising, a love deteriorating like a gnarled and ancient tree; a vegetable; a rock; a forgotten thing. It couldn’t do any harm; a thing finally, a single simple thing with no desires or ambitions, no prayers…nothing. On the wall, a neon sign spelling out Truth for the succeeding generations of Neanderthal to see and dare to look away.

  

  

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