
Canvas for me is like paper on which I write stories about everything ...<br> I can be lost in dreams of love that is as juicy as fresh icy apples in the heat. The juice sprinkles out of these apples when you bite them. Sorry, I have splashed on you!<br> I can endlessly sink to the ocean floor along with handsome Jacques-Yves Cousteau and devour enormous amounts of lobsters, shrimps and Pirates' gold. Oh my God, my eyes hurt so bad because of the brightness of the pearls!<br> Paint is flowing on the canvas as slowly as the brandy in a glass warmed up in her hands ... Red leaves on acid-green lawn trimmed like a recruit’s back of the head ... A neat lawn-mower ... Crimson autumn... Brushes start beating out the rhythm on the canvas as jazz musicians’ brushes ... I’m singing: BE BA BA LU BA, SHE IS MY BABY! That's all me and my poems in paint..