What we call artistic creation, is but a peek behind the curtains backstage of the Mystery of Being of beings.
A look that flirts with eternity. The spasm wounded feline into the cage of Thought. The cry of a lonely soul from the dark depths of apartments at the heart of the man who inhabits.
An attempt to trace someone “ineffable” making of the perceived universe we inhabit. This world, "the small, the Great"-as once wrote a Greek poet, Odysseus Elytis -the mythologies of the peoples, their legends and folklore loved. My country's ancient civilization and the more distant, but familiar to us Greeks, East. From where the light rises to result in "endless night", according to Milton, urban legends of Western Civilization. A dying culture despite the dominance of the Planet.
Because it stopped "thinking correctly and operate according to Nature, since the experienced" as from the depths of centuries taught us divine philosopher Heraclitus.
Perhaps the only antidote to the self-destructive, decadent course of the global community to be the ART. In any way you expressed. Especially painting, in any form, is a vehicle and a gate. Each painting hung on the walls around us that have raised protection is an emergency exit from the prison, that the walls of human vanity or insecurity define... A libation of freedom of the human spirit. Invitation for an initiatory journey. A journey of “catharsis” and knowledge. And that to the extent that it is understood, is that vindicates our ephemeral passage from this life.