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Intuitions before Dreaming (2)

Painting is an inscription on the flesh of time. An invocation of colours. Painting is a raising from the dead, a resurrection, a transmogrification, a transmutation. Painting is the triumph of plants and minerals and animal hair. It is soul dancing to soul.

Painting is the still life of God’s mind. It is the heaven of remembered things, the hell of forgotten things. It is the destiny of legend, the dream of a faun and all legendary beings. It is legend frozen, memory’s homeland.

Painting is the nightmare of the devil. Codes in colours and shapes. It is the yearning of all things to live and persist in memory. Painting is the only mortal space where angels dwell in stillness. It is meditation with eyes wide open, contemplation with the mind’s eyes focused on enigmas. It is visualisation materialised. The mind’s strength and grace trembling in space. The unending lesson of the ascending spirit.

Painting is the tentative deciphering of destiny, the visual haiku of human history, musings of life in deep dimensions. Painting is illusion impacting on the real, becoming the real, insisting on its ability to be more real than that which has vanished. Painting is human love transcending human forgetfulness. It is mortality staring at itself in the evanescent mirror of immortality. It is spaces dancing, dimensions interacting, realms interpenetrating, time zones colliding, eliding, harmonising.

Painting is the shaman’s mirror, the warrior’s truest shield, the healer’s armour against fate and tragedy. The celebration of light.

Painting is the weapon the wise use against vicissitude. It will one day heal profound sicknesses of body, mind, and spirit. It is the technology of the wise primitive, the science and medicine of the forgotten ancients.