Arp The streams buck like rams in a tent. Whips crack and from the hills Come the crookedly combed Shadows of the shepherds. Black eggs and fools’ bells Fall from the trees. Thunder drums and kettledrums Beat upon the ears of the donkeys. Wings brush a …

Art is an experience, not an object. / The game is organizing states of feeling. / Through painting I discover how I feel. …

Art today is moving in directions / that our forebears couldn’t know. ? The Horsemen of Apocalypse …

Of which beauty will you speak? / There are many: / there are a thousand: …

I have painted a father holding the body of his son. / I have painted a dead horse. / I have painted a horse frightened by lightning.