Open to loss of emptiness, meaningless,
Losing oneself, forgetting oneself in the looks of another,
Diaphanous volutes, at opaline abyss,
The confusion of flesh, the touch of colors,
To obscure dreams, illusionary emotions,
Decay of immaterial, of original turgescences,
Insidious wandering, opulent disillusionment,
In camera of my abandoned sketches...
Transcribe the soul through the body, through the skin. Here is such a very conceited whim. But such was my good pleasure this week. So, if you find me insolent, deign not to consider.