There was a man, he came into being, and he lived… He was born every morning and died every night. He created to see, otherwise he couldn’t perceive … People moved around him, and he painted their motions. People moved so fast that they saw only the visual side of things and made a big thing out of it. The man wasn’t interested in that. Why? - Because he couldn’t stop. He had no alternative.

People thought he did what he did for pleasure, for beauty, others thought he had nothing else to do. Only one person knew what he was actually looking for and that person was him…Who is hurt by permanent protest but the one who protests? I know that but only confrontation can reveal the truth…

And there was a Trout that swam against the current. As the time passed he felt the world around him. He used to go where the live emotions swam and caught them. Then he would return to canvas. Emotion deadly but short. In a few hours everything was over - the man was happy. But for half an hour only… One hour passed and he would return to fishing on emotions again complicating his existence. Who needs that, but him? He walked in the streets mechanically and thought of compositions, symbols, forms and most importantly, he thought of colors. He worshipped and sacrificed the cult of color everyday.

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