I sent images of work by the PaFa master of figure drawing and anatomy, Al Gury, to my late uncle.
But they are ugly! he complained.

A conversation I wish we could have had, but he was beyond such exchages by then.

You look in the mirror when you’re old, and you realize two things

That you are not what you look like.

And you never were.

I think about this.. about the tradition of portraiture.
Representative art.
Is it a tradition devoted to reifying an illusion? Or does the artist… help us see beyond
what we see,
even while we are seeing it?

The ideal…when applied to physical reality
is always a lie.

Fucking Greeks messed up our minds.