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I was working on this collage today and from the start found it interesting to comment on it, so I took several pictures.
It started with a fragment lying ramdomly on the cover of a magazine yesterday night. I liked the geometrical shape of it.
This morning, I glued it on the cover and looked for some other pieces to fit. I took the skull that had been on my desk for several days. There I had a figure.
This made an urge for some legs. Easily found.
But now the figure and the background didn't match. I cut out the figure, glued it on a new background, took off the skull and tried a Caravagesque composition.
I intensified the gesture of holding the dead man, in order to express concern.
I might have stopped here. But the picture looked too "baroque" or "ancient" in my eyes, It missed some wit. This lead to the final picture.
Finally, death reappeared in the picture, holding its prey and greeting the audience. I acknowledge again the way collage works and how my hidden artists has its own ways, driving me by the means of insatisfaction. I started with an abstract pattern, just so and ended up with THE question - I had no intention to deal with this subject, nor am I oppressed, depressed, sick or so. But all these dead people in North Africa, in Japan get inside me by some invisible means.
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