Creating art is a state; the mind must be in tune. We create in this chaos, using the experiences and tools available. Sometimes we are assisted by the muses of art. But we can always doubt what we create. Is the art we create good? Are the ideas about art we have the right ones?
Potatoes are that ochre stain decomposing on the wall. It is its potato rictus. Its foreboding announces the transformation. The exit from this dream world. The new dawns. Perhaps one can get out from under the table and stretch one's legs.

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