"Abstract 21a" Painting

Who am I? A man who wants to know himself. A man who claims to have succeeded, has not even come close to the image reflected in the mirror in which he is reflected at this very moment! No, I am not crazy, nor an egotist, but simply a being who understood, since childhood, that life holds a truth far superior to what can be glimpsed from mere sensory existence. Knowing yourself is not a commandment or an exhortation, but much more: it means stirring up - moment by moment, day by day, year by year, life by life, for we do not live just one life when we have the power to dream - within yourself that greatness hidden in the very quintessence of the universe. That is how I discovered art. And I do not mean only painting, but also literature. For me, from that moment of reverie, from my endless childhood, art became the truth, the little truth, from which you can discover the Truth! For, deep in the soul, the moment you stir, with that attention of purity, greatness levitates like a rare bird, which however sleeps, sleeps so deeply that, if you wake it up suddenly, you will never touch it. So I decided to be patient, lest I wake it up and it too take flight…away from me, away from greatness. I sat down next to it and contemplated it…until I fell asleep! I slept for a long time, a desperate sleep, full of nightmares. And yet, I did not feel the need to wake up. For what, for whom, telling myself that maybe I was deluding myself, and maybe greatness does not exist, and maybe everything is nothing but this life full of suffering. Obviously, I was wrong, I was always awake, but I thought I was sleeping, and she, Greatness, the rare bird of the soul, sat on my head and comforted me! At first it was oil painting, which I easily mastered, studying and copying the great masters, such as Rubens, Hals, Rembrandt and many others. I was about 19 years old. For some old painters I was, if not a genius, then a great talent. I was not interested in this, I was looking for greatness, that greatness beyond fame, beyond this illusion that being famous means being great. And I painted in oil for almost 30 years, as in a dream, selling almost all the paintings, but without having the feeling that I had come to know myself. Yes, when I woke up, I was alone! Greatness had left me, but he had left me a letter: Don't be scared, I will come back, but only if you promise me something.