Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me!
A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time.
D.H. Lawrence
Not long ago, the owner of a gallery in which I wanted to be represented visited my studio. She had a discerning eye, a successful gallery, and I respected her judgment. To my dismay, however, her verdict on many of my paintings was this: “Miguel, I love your Imagination and these dream-like paintings are mysterious and beautiful. The problem is, I have no idea how to sell them.”
She was right, of course, dreams are strange. They may be real and compelling to me, but why should anyone else have any interest in them?
And yet, and yet, the wind blows….
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