I have noticed that during the day I am overcome by a state of intense unease accompanied by an enticing challenge to read everything, a keen desire to inform myself of any unexpected variations between the longing for truth and the fear of not allowing it to ruin me. I can anticipate later life tendencies in a mystical-tempting chiaroscuro, with the same pressing care that the artist tries to reconcile the tension between the content he has to play out and the aesthetic form of his creation.
My anxiety is the artist’s torment to define a horizon of knowledge, open and practical, through the prism of a creation that deliberately mixes the register of the miraculous with that of the supernatural. The only term that seems to be missing for full expression is color, or more precisely that expression of color capable of being purely pictorial essence. Here, I feel a total perplexity, accompanied by a strange pain due to a thrill of worry, my imagination springing out of a depth full of secrets. That I know nothing of, that I cannot include in the desperate adventure of self-discovery, but one which lets out a decisive and resounding answer: "I’ve been waiting for you ! "
I hope that I will find another opportunity to make up for the cause of this dark, chaotic, desolate, abysmal place, to which I owe a monthly "rate."
When inspiration tangles you, like a tightly knotted noose around your neck, throwing yourself into a dangerous spiral of uncertainty, replacing the tendency to detest or even to hate yourself; when you wake up in the terrible madness of the insanity to insist, to seek and espouse an escape, a release of suffering, an escape from the red hell of despair, there is nothing left to do but untangle it, to break away from that acute feeling of denial of the moment. "Who do you need, who do you love, when you come undone?"
Words, playing me déjà vu, for proof of the identity between Everything and Nothing, suggesting a consumption of force, a restraint of physical energy, but in perfect communion with the universe, that the soul depicts in a momentum of the ephemeral sublime, arriving without failing where it is directed: towards the center of the sphere of fearful curiosity for what will follow.
No one can surrender to what is collapse, retreat, sliding into the abyss, what human understanding would be tempted to regard as a careful delimitation of what cannot be shared, globally or in detail. But you can always express an emotion, a certain mood that convinces you of a certain fact. "Is it something real?"
I’m thinking of getting rid of a burden or obligation that hollows everything in me gradually, on the wavelength of conscience burdened by certain prohibitions, depending on the situation and circumstances of a bizarre combination of "breath and anxiety". At least the way in which I see reality, that beyond it is me, a Creator of feelings and sensations, employing and integrating a multiplicity of hues, values and experiences, manages to compromise with their own content. With the deepest and most awkward thoughts. As a dominant effect, throwing themselves either into obsessions or ruin.
There can be no other explanation for this strange situation, as an isolated experiment affected by the hazard, which seems to be attributed to confusion or exhaustion, anxiety and worry, for they also devour the artist who has become a slave of the sin to understand how important is the courage to be honest in art, even if sincerity is painful, often punished. "I swear I've heard it before."
Here the reader has the opportunity to reflect on his own relation to the newest approaches to the condition of man, to be a being living in support of a high frequency activation, meant to connect his personality to the higher self. Vulnerable to the image he experiences in response to situations in fact produced in secret but with light and shadow effects, to the hope and fear outside.
Responding states that respond to purely psychic situations intimately linked to the content of some evidence of soul pressure create uncertainty as you go on the idea that you will never find anything where everything once was. Atonement through the fear of imaginary acts that you are afraid of, because hidden things can be revealed at any time, even if they are not revealed, are in the vicinity of the naive sincerity of despair.
After each mirroring in the painting charged with shadows of my image, in a frame of the "Black Experience" type, I cannot update my state and improve it in a tone of authenticity.
Here, it should be mentioned that I am not far from a story full of fiction. It is true that a self-affirmation in the field of art is an effective engagement in a symbolized universe, as if you wanted to conquer everything, as if you had time to master everything. But it is equally true that in art, one who rushes too far into fiction, wandering as in a trance, through a labyrinth of emotional, incredible, unexpected confessions, must assume the negation of his own condition fallen into the hidden of a world that has reached its limits.
The manifestation of a state of anxiety is the consequence of my relating to the creator status, enrolling on the path of modeling the reality that consumes me, during which I build and consolidate the relationship between what is intimate and what is in the outside world.
The creator, at least in the way I look and accept my madness to deny what already exists in my being, with which I have the pride of being already learned, is the man who knows how much a hidden and unfinished work costs.
Leadership is like the act of creation that tests your ingenuity, qualities, acceptance, and self-control: first you have to evaluate your state of mind, then dig out of yourself some hidden truths, and in the end, you must associate your image with everything people need to know about you.
Come Undone is the final stage of exploration of self, you feel that everything is taking on the proportions of an experience designed to highlight the restlessness of an artist who confides in his creation : "I cannot update my state and improve it in a tone of authenticity."
* Note: Duran Duran - Come Undone