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In my house, I am very inspired. I have a large table on which I can spread my magazines, a nice stereo to work in music and especially a large separate room in the house. The collages succeed and I do not think too much by doing this. Only for a short wake in the middle of the night I'm trying to make the point: are they all good? Do I still have things to express or is it that I'm just repeating myself? What good is creating every day - it'll have to stop it one day anyway. And for who are these thousands of collages that almost nobody buys? Finally it is only in the moment of creation that I find my happiness, as also said H. Hesse. I know now that I am an experimental artist (Galenson) progressing continuously, but slowly in contrast to the conceptual artists who find their way in the 30ies. Me, I'm still looking, hoping to find the total artistic freedom down the road. This freedom, I associate it with the art of outsiders, without repeating their repetitive side of course, without creating other ways as my own requirement. It pushes me in a margin of the art world that I fully assume, even if the rejection of wealthy clients at Barclays still pains me a little - what is so disturbing and even repulsive in my pictures? I've been looking for the "picture", a perfection in the continuity of tradition ... For cons, it seems that having to fight to exercise one’s art is a guarantee of quality (Daniel H. Pink: Drive) whereas rewards incite ease. So I continue to arm myself with courage and discipline to continue my "late spring".
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