Very much more than being part of the picture…

Strange feeling.

The land of all those famous Flemish painters is around me.

Of course the beauty is in the eyes …

And you must work on it.

It is a question of choice.

A collection.

A bird here, a cloud there.

Philemon is cutting his white hawthorn edge branch by branch.

What I have is the feeling of things.

The dew on the grass still so green.

Is a wink of Raziel, angel of sacred forms…

His color is crystal, his color contains the rainbow.

As it shines in the morning light, it is the Divine in the drop.

And the sky: clouds, blue, clouds, blue, clouds.

Sun…

And the wind in Camden’ s fur or fleece, nearly…

And the wind in the grass.

And the wind chasing my hairs…

And the wind.