I really don’t care anymore if anyone sees; if anyone hears; if anyone is prejudiced or has preconceived notions. What exists is simply this pen and this paper making passionate love and being voyeuristically encouraged by me and my mind. Psychic prurience! We are poolside at the best hotel in the world. Peak life. Yes, it’s the sun itself and the birdsong that create the genuine happiness; not necessarily the outer location. This I’ve known for a long time. Memento Mori. We can’t take any of this with us when we go, but we can certainly leave traces of spaces and places behind for others to take part of. In that lies individual choice; the important esthetic imbued in the curation of life. Hence one huge incentive for making art. Perhaps the only really valid one: to give life meaning while at it, and hope that it will retain some meaning for future partakers of the past. The water sure looks wonderful and cooling. ”I think I’ll go for a swim, OK?”   (A very relaxed photo...

  Pen, paper, camera. Good walking shoes. It doesn’t take a genius to sum it all up. Am I a magnet? A sponge? A filter? An intellectual feedback loop? A regurgitation monster? All of the above, I’d say, as I keep roaming the invisible yellow brick road to an OZ of my own construction. Do I ever see or partake of the truth? I hope not, because there is no such thing. There is only a dynamic interdependence between individuals. Not even between cultures, nations, continents, sexes, races, religions etc. There is only a dynamic interdependence between individuals in the here and now. I don’t need much to do my part, or to offer what I have. Some people get it; some don’t. I am a magnet, a sponge, a filter, an intellectual feedback loop, and most definitely a regurgitation monster. If you have something to offer me, I can assure you that you are in good hands. Look, see, can you discern an OZ of your own making on the horizon? That’s where I’m headed, anyway. Join me if you will...