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Long after I have finished painting "Muses" I looked back and suddenly discovered the advancing keel of a gigantic ship.

Did you notice the sharp corner from where the corridors diverge? It felt like a knife slicing through time. Once again I was a school boy watching the knife claim its first victim - the girl who stands with her back to the edge. Then there were corridors of time, as real as the endless ones I have traversed in hospital life(especially those at Chichester!) and suddenly all kinds of people popped out and tried to speak. Some ultimately didn't, but were trying nonetheless. Some kept on walking endless distances, without ever quite arriving. Some offered their hands but, inexplicably could not elicit a response. Still others looked rough and angry - yet had hearts softer than their bosom. Hah! Good, wasn't it - the last one?!

We need not try to look for a factual presence of the muses. It is enough that the emotions they spawned were strong enough to generate forms and produce colors.


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