Dry pastel on A4 size paper
The artist, to me, is like Sisyphus, cursed to take a boulder uphill. For every few steps that he moves up the natural inertia of things pull him back downhill whenever he stops to fill up his lungs. It is the artist’s curse to keep on making things. New things, relevant things, things that contain his unique fingerprint… his unique imagination. It is the act of creation that is his redemption, where he tries to give birth to all that is ready and waiting inside his head… waiting to be delivered from a realm of imagination to solid manifestation. This is the artist’s cross, to keep on delivering bits of his imagination over and over again… till there comes a point when nothing more remains to be said because everything has become manifest.


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