This is the artist's apparently monochromatic world. There are colors in there, but the naked eye is limited from seeing them. The naked eye has to apprehend to see, from critiques and commentators. And the artist lingers on, in this material world, only to look at the mirror of his parallel existence, his work, rising mighty from the grounds of his mind and spirit, entirely exhilarating. He is doomed to walk the earth in a veil of grey until his colors turn visible, beyond biography.
*Entry for BW Weekend