Let everything that’s been planned come true.
Let them believe.
And let them have a laugh at their passions.
Because what they call passion,
actually is not some emotional energy,
but just the friction between their souls and the outside world.
And most important, let them believe in themselves.
Let them be helpless like children,
because weakness is a great thing, and strength is nothing.
When a man is just born, he is weak and flexible,
when he dies, he is hard and insensitive.
When a tree is growing, it’s tender and pliant,
but when it’s dry and hard, it dies.
Hardness and strength are death’s companions.
Pliancy and weakness are expressions of the freshness of being.
Because what has hardened will never win.
“But why do you continue with your art when you see that it has no purpose, that as you said, it is totally Meaningless?”
— Well, that is the question we never will get an answer to. I am me, and that ME creates music or pictures. Not always, never always, but the times when ME creates, ME creates. ME creates when ME creates.
(Well, Me creates Me. Art is to become oneself? I hang on to my being and I will not let them take it, steal it or buy it. I am still free. The colors, the trees, the lilacs – early summer penetrates me. To Make Art Is To Become What I Am.)
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