The tragic and banal aspects of all beginning that is actually already a middle haunt every painter. There is no beginning- poiesis is already a middle. Confusion that ideas create, the lingering mind oscillating between ideas and the eager bodily respose, however, never able to repeat what it wants to repeat. All this confusion condenced in a painting, all these layers of unsuccess, yet something new and surprising emerging. All the rules of propriety in painting - in vain.
