Studio-punishment, to start with the capture of my freedom and me from society, of my budding conscience in view of the drawings, given this language in my excitement as complication at the practice and release of my drawing talent, from my artistry as I have been, have been underdeveloped and flourishing, in search of the word for imaging, knowledge to distinguish signs, this ABC as a precious possession, lost in its refined details because I have lost that already as the one and only starting line, and I am the last one who has got on through his restless hand drawing.

It brightens up in the drawing, yes, even the unknown commits itself and thus… Out of that indetermination the powerful blank flows around in itself with relentless imagination. As if my lightness exists and I climb up useful boughs as a relief and waving of some pencils and hands. In paradises it always falls down on weightless paper, there is no ground. That I draw and am imaging the silent invisibility of modern man, on a chair at table, on the look-out in enlightened dreams, shapes shining to the floor of dance on tides. Yes, like the present already past, the image neither white nor black. That I forgot the beginning as the end, the now is known, the potential discourse of my timely art of drawing, in this city at the river de Waal. And it is good, more windows give transmittability, a flow of discovered images, a flood of covering words.

That drawing just comes into existence by clear autonomy of the hand, after reflection precipitation of lines becomes visible in the humus of the paper, rests can be seen of it in actions, first trials, tracings by decisions and determinations of notions. My drawing is not calculative exploring, it is a generating self charging happening. It perfects the idiom of the art of drawing itself, as one of the areas where the ‘free hand’ can pose a self-evident power, without intervention of something else. It immediately reflects from firsthand what has come into existence. That is why I mirror myself in the sketched intentions, scribbles and wandering lines, in careless strokes, compulsory re-writing or studious inscriptions. The dictation of the image I may tempt, disturb and correct. I can have the stages of building up parasitize and lie dormant in their fragmented condition.
In those spiritual landscapes I must sometimes have hazes and sfumatoes perform to repel, calm something. At last I want -when courage has mustered me- to disturb the personal signature; purify from lumber or needless sentiments. My drawings are documents in this cooled accumulating process. What can be considered as the expressed is not the represented. In that only the ‘capacity of hand’ grooved in search of own virtuosity. For the representabe is the given signification of the imaginary, in the drawn image, this is done by the spectator, who is the signifier and draws himself.
A spectator introduces his own cosmology and compels this as being a signifier in the drawing. Thus positiveness only appears to be victory of the drawer and the signifier.

And it is good, here I scratch out the drawing, up to the desperate curves of speechlessness, there I put my hand in some Prussian darkness. Through signifying the stars there have a name. Do I think here the drawn as such up to the perception of thoughtlessness, and also as the last stage of decisive but necessary signification? In a wide range that contains many if not all things, a beautiful gamma opens the eyes, all looks come through the transport of our disappointment-blood, in trembling hands surely somewhere on paper.

In this way I draw the common remarkable and I have been enwrapped by an oeuvre of the most natural images. In each separate datum this drawing is and I just need to wait for the help of some words to solve a condition of finite, my being without an image, at least for a while.