The work surprises me for its bold
and esoteric nature. We, as we, ask the questions of
your profile, are
insistent that no work would surfice... the space
stations, life after death religiously pronounced.
How do we cater for
aging? as if and as long as I write and speak it
continues unerringly
ticking like the alarm clocks going off in 'Ground
Hog Day'.
When we look at your work, We are literally left,
with space around the
work, encapsulated like a film made in the fifties by
Orson Welles, we
cannot divulge our secrets, they are hidden in the
shape of a globe
where millions live theoretically again not knowing
what is being said
or heard. We are left unguarded vulnerable and
hapless to new beginnings
the world over. We seem to lose identity and
helpless we are at the
mercy of your work.
Wow.
