Artist

"From shadows of forgotten famous polish pedigree, emerges the artist. What is drawn is drawn, and these are forever songscapes, recapitulating Noah’s beasts, now dancing now prancing upon loose leaf boughs, treasure folded in fanciful brushwood pen-work. Oh for the love of the impoverished artist, please sing a song of six-pence, or... spare more, for the artist has forgone her ashen spirit in return for this body of pleasure pictures. Beholden are we, dear readers. Here lies the spook of loons perched in a shady timber: look out below! Crowds fall from the thick of the air. There stood a ‘hood of roof beams raised high, inside the dream of a long-since scene: the sky’s the limit! Ships like snowflakes set to sea-fare. Imagine the great ecstasy of the artist as soothsayer, the motif of the hourglass lately inverted, and, ladies and gentlemen, children of all the ages, we are as the timeless spots in this latter-day looking glass. Come, gather together upon these grounds and sing the artist’s praises."

-Anonymous