I imagine one his photographs might look like this:



Across the western landscape
clouds roam with
scattered shadows.

What beasts must I endure
to find my way, my path.

Only abstract from life, from nature.
I am nature.

Source of art from the unconscious.

The white canvas, an empty field
waits with silent anticipation for the
first brush.

Where does “it” come from?

The once empty valley.