My work provides me daily with new definitions for the existing. Those definitions may contradict the existing ones, but as long as I feel that what I do satisfies the inquisitiveness within me, I am content.
The daily bombardments by the so-called progressive and conceptual art movements which are informing us that not only the definitions, but the substance of what art is has changed and the fine craft accompanying the arts that persevered thousands of years must cease to exist.
This blanket condemnation confuses the artist and alienates the lovers of art as well. As one who is in complete harmony with his thinking and his craft, I must continue applying my educated ability to my paintings and sculptures, both which I regard as a wife and mistress, loving and demanding, thus improving the understanding of my craft. My art is a statement of love and as such it encompasses all of its shortcomings and virtues, frailty being one of them. As the famed German poet Rainer Maria Rilke wrote, "Works of art are of infinite loneliness and can be reached with criticism least of all. Only love can hold and fairly judge them."
As one who loves the outcome of his labor and sees every new arising problem in his creativity as an opportunity to strengthen his beliefs in what he does and what he knows, Rilke’s words do not ring hollow, especially today with artistic tovu-vabohu upon us.
With all this, where does it leave a painter who still believes in the pure virtues of his craft? Does it bring him to the trenches and make him fight hoping that this madness reverses its ?sentence and allows you once more to become part of the mainstream. I must resist the temptation from joining them and vigorously disagree with them. After all, at least in the world I know, talent is still the most precious commodity, and what is talent, without the tools that are enabling it to profoundly express beauty and expose injustice.