To paint

Is to release

The fragrance

Of one’s passage

On earth


Place a frame over anything, and there is a mind

squaring the earth


A photograph dies

If it moves only the senses

And lives

If it opens doors

To the unknown


In gravity, the horizontal plane

In no-gravity,  the vertical plane          

At this intersection, we live


Naked is the body

Clothed is the mind


Laughter opens heart

Seriousness closes mind


Laughter erupts when the smallness

Of mind is exposed


This body-earth


Upon itself


Seen from the moon, all quarrels are a waste of time.



Is to go to war

Over this earth

That we are


When I am

This earth

All that remains

Is dancing

And singing


If my mind would move like this earth

It would be quiet


When I am this earth

All faces

Are my face


Still is the mind

That does not know

    Still is the body  

    That does not belong to anyone


What is

Behind sadness ?

Greed of wanting more


What is left

Except flying

Outside the gravity

Of  this small mind ?


If this body-mind

Is a mountain

How will it be touched

By the winds of change?


Belief is a secure way

To hide all that is unpredictable



Is the horizontal gravity of this mind


Is the vertical freedom of this moment


like a color

Humans are mysterious

Unless someone

Has found out

What blue red and yellow



When one is

All  boundaries  vanish

And  I am nowhere to be found



Are silent gaps

Into the freedom

Of the unknown


A photograph

May bring silence

The rest

Is superfluous


Can I unlearn

and listen to a photograph

Like the wind

In the pine trees ?


If the clouds

Would be blue

Where would be the problems?


It is no surprise to see the world as it was

How can I see it as it is?


This body-mind is a big pipe

How to make it a flute?


When the moon

And the grass

See through me

How can I not

Be happy then?


Lift anything

And you’ll bring light

Where there was



We would not know


If it were not for


And prisons


In the art of doing nothing

Is born

The art of doing things for nothing


Humans are




Earth and



I can either


Through this body’s eyes

Or through the Earth’s eyes

The choice is open


What to say

To this ignorant mind

Who thinks it masters


And therefore masters

The earth?


Nowhere to be seen

Is the object

Of my desires

For it will

Always change


If by chance

You encounter God

Give yourself

A handshake


In silence

Find the words

Beyond thoughts


In silence

I cannot

Not be


It is the easiest

Thing to say

That things

Are the way they are

But it is the hardest thing

To remember


Be a tree for others

For it will tell them

That nothing is needed

Apart from Being


Walking on one’s hands

Would be a way

To see reality as it is

For everything

Would be fresh

And thinking

Would cease to be


When the nature of things

Truly appears

All becomes so lively

That even names



When is a painting or a photograph

A mirror

Into which

I disappear?


The hills and valleys

Of the earth

Are the belly and legs

Of this body



Is the collision between


And the plans made

By my mind


I am

The ear eye

Mouth nose

And skin

Of the earth



Reason derails





Feeling the body

Feeling the earth

          I am not thinking

          Therefore I am


Body is light

Light is color

No origin no aim

Just travelling

Just being


when things do not fit

the boxes of my mind…

laughter explodes

and life comes in


Humor is seeing that making sense

Belongs to the flowers and the trees


I walk this earth


That the landscape

Is outside of this body

          As if my parents

          Were not inside me…


Landscape is a ground to perceive that

In reality

All things are related

By invisible threads


Whatever I say

Whatever I do

This infinite landscape

Is doing it


It’s miraculous that

Although living in my mind

I still exist


Inner landscape

Outer landscape

Where do they begin?


All is the landscape

Even that small mind

Of mine


This body

Is always in flight

Living and dying

Every moment


I say, “ I have not seen anything like that.”

But actually, every second,

I have never seen anything like that



That makes us


     What we think

Is serving

Our intelligence


Nonsense is

As necessary

As Chantilly

On a cake


To paint a body

Is to see it afresh

With a sculptor’s eye

Why would anyone

Desire or fear

A stone statue?


Man is at the intersection

Of a dilemma

Choosing either the


Of horizontal

Time and space

Or the vertical


Of this very moment


To be

     Is to be naked

No longer separated

     From anything

      In the world


Our simple

      Bare being

Is as unavoidable

       As this present



A bare body

        Is simply this:

This simple


     Infinitely present


It is true

That waking up


After sleep

     But who says

That I am not sleeping

     When awake?


A painted body lays open

The flowering of something



In the space

        Of an “if”

There is no room

For being


A train

Of thoughts

       Does not have


        From which to enjoy

The countryside


If there was only one meaning for each word

We would have stopped

All wars


A cloud 


       The nature

       Of this life:

Both present

And already



A brain is like

     A funnel

It narrows

      The vastness

Poured into it


to live

as if the scent of roses


is one of

grateful thanks

this planet

        can hear



Is the sound

            Of mind dropping

On the floor



Makes itself


         For it offers


And in nothing

Is everything


Cats and dogs

Do not need laughter

      For they do not

      Take themselves

 So seriously


 “you “ only


if there is

a “me”

what if

These hills and rivers

were me?


Laughter breaks up

The glue attaching me

To all things          


Order is like uncombed hair

It confuses

Natural disorder


The body flying

Is only a dream

        For those who

        Who do not see

That it flies

All the time


Jump into the unfamiliar

Until you can hardly breathe

       For it will suffocate

       You with beauty


Balloons, like thoughts, are fun

To watch



And they tend to deflate



Hear the sound

Of a word

     And not

     Its meaning

Peel off


     From the sight

     Of this body


Be this heart

And you will see

        That colors

Are deeper

        Than you knew


Knowledge is just gossip



         The incongruous

I give back

       To the earth

What it gives




At anything

It will warm you

With your

Own blood



In the world


     As if you were


Then what would you

Not let go of ?


If you want

           to be

Become a color




         The clothes of beliefs

One enters

         The desert

         Of the self


It is clear

That little

Is clear

       As long as

I think about



In one word

         Ten thousand


Whom to hear?


Drunk with the earth


       We turn                          

Like stars

       Landing flat

       In the agony of time        


The birds

And the clouds

     Call me

So that I see

The world

     From their point of view


Working with silence

Why would I need narratives?


In action, noise

In being, silence

      In silence

Trees,  stars,

And bodies

All melt             

      Into one big

      Jelly bean


There are two ways

To see the stars:

       Look up

Or look inside yourself


It is well known

That 2+2 =4

       It is less well known

That it is a perfect




         Do not show  

         Their ears

Until someone  

Hears them


Painting a body

Suspends the naming of its parts

And it becomes


       A spread of light


       In the landscape


Painted bodies

         How can I look

         At anyone


In terms

Of skin

Color ?


Painted body

Or innermost

Flowering ?


 Color is my “black and white”

         With colors

The body becomes alien

Any mound or hollow

Becomes a plastic sculpture

         Hard to name

         Or desire

Without words

         I see anew

Experience has replaced thought

         And the body again

         Is flowers in a field


If wanting more

Than this moment

      Is Hell

Then this moment

       Must be Heaven


 Color and light

Are the fabric

Of this Body-Earth


 The entire universe



The universe

Always says “yes”

        “No “ belongs to

        This small mind




 Each word

     Is like

     A knife

Peeling off

Flat images

From reality


Light is blind

For it moves



Light is blind

For not a single body

Carries it


Light is blind

For it travels

In darkness




When I know

I am a stone    

 When I don’t know

I become water


There are

Many things

I do not know

But is there

One thing

I truly



Belief is the king

Of my fiefdom

The more I believe

The more it shrinks


Mind is a circus clown

Who believes

He is a banker


A photograph

Is a trace of light

Fast food

For the poor


Don’t watch what people


For it may be

The only



They do


“It’s all or nothing”

but why the alternative?

Are not they



This body-mind

Is Light

      Thrown in

      All directions.

Painted colors

Are a trace of

      Our helpless

Flower nature


When one

Is absent

Then one



When the story


The world



To paint

Is to be

The mystery

Of light

As matter


To paint is akin to bringing musicians in

So folks can come and dance


The tyranny

Of meaningfulness…

Do stars and clouds

Move meaningfully?


To paint

Is my mind‘s job

Continuously, it paints “reality”


To paint

Is to dream


The dream

Of my senses


To rediscover

The musicality

Of the body

I use paint


In the light

Of the moment

There is darkness

The not-knowing

That lies ahead


Everything is painting:

This whole fiction

I call reality

This whole universe

Is painted

In my mind


Ideas are

Invisible stones


Being the landscape

Is to catch our minds

By surprise

       What if there were

       No selves that taint

       The universe

With the color

Of its own glasses?


To paint

is to open one’s heart

        For what could remain


While I am not thinking?


I shoot ”in nature”


The surprise of infinite encounters:

A shadow, rain, cloud, or light

Meeting as fortuitously

As several arrows in mid-air


What are we but light?


Paint on a body

Takes away

Habitual narratives

And creates a distance

While cooling the


Freshness, life,

Or poetry

Are then allowed

To come into play


Every moment

Is always

The last supper


To paint is

To become


All people and things

Around us


the earth

Is our flesh and bones

And the sky

Our mind


Can a photograph

Bring me

To a place

Beyond reason?


Color is freedom

Flowering within

This body


The less identifiable a work

The more questions it may raise


What else

But humor

Can undermine

The constant chatter

Of my mind?



Has acquired

The license

To steal




Is to walk

In the shadow

Of oneself



Is not believing

My mind


If I look attentively

At the clouds

I should learn everything

About myself


To paint a body

Is to give birth

    to give birth

Is to realize

that I no longer am


In place of saying, “I am,”

I should say:

“I Human”

“I sea”

“I cloud”

Depending  on where

My attention is


Through the


Excess of


These age old


What is it ?

What is this body-mind?



Is this second    

Made a bit longer


 My brain is as stretched as a rectangle

to better play the game of ideas


To see form as form

Without any label

Is as vital

As not confusing water

With wine


My fears are proportional to the illusion

That I know anything


How can I see the body’s real colors

Without my mind’s coloring


I watch the stars

Watching me


The desert is

The very nature

Of our mind

Before it sticks

To pots


Fame and fortune


To paint

An illusion

Is both to hide it

And make it




Is a less-condensed


Of thought


Every second


Into this body

As if it were

A dwelling

In wonderland



Is the other side

Of not knowing



Do not unveil

A mystery

 They hide it


This body

Standing up


Is perhaps

The only ideogram

Of the English language


The horizon is

Close to the nature

Of our mind:

The more we try

To get it

The more

It recedes in the distance



Are close to being

For they give insight


The unknowable


Pain is condensed thought



Like clouds

Move away

From were

We are


Why do I paint or photograph

Except to become the light ?