* * *
Vienna, May 1996.
The Colour …
Colour a pure …
A strong colour …
A free colour everything enpéche to see.
A fresh colour … The Color of Life.
Form …
If changeable and inaccessible and at the same time so real.
The form, capable of exploding and its melt with you in every moment.
The form, capable of exploding because of a too full of colour.
Color … a fresh,
Color … a pure,
The colour … the struggle for life.
The colour … the struggle for form.
And on top of all this – the Light!
And the interior of all this-of the Light!
The light which gave birth to a color Donnaint birth to a form.
Sunlight …
The light of Siel’s Night …
The Light of the Universe …
The light from within.
Viktor Musi.
* * *
Wiesbaden, September 1994.
The light …
Here light of the first snow on a green leaf.
The light of a winter morning with the Solei flickering in the air, as if the last résonnaite purity.
The light of a Butterfly with its wings weighed down by bariolages colors.
the light of a summer evening with trees exhausted by heat and exploding Solei a red color on top of trees.
And on top of all this – the light …
And the interior of all this – the light …
Light, which gives rise to all this …
The Light of intériere.
Viktor Musi.
* * *
Paris, november 1998.
Draw the colors!
Draw the colors, so pure and vibrant!
Draw them, because only they are able to keep us in this life.
Draw colors and do not be afraid to be misunderstood, to be shocking to some and too colorful.
Draw the colors!
Draw the colors because they only who are pure and vibrant, can give us the thirst for life.
Thirst for Life for the lette …
The thirst for the fight for Colour.
The color of the sky clear.
Color of Night.
Color of Life.
Viktor Musi.
* * *
Paris, October 1998.
To consumers!
Art taking shape and sometimes poignant and sometimes amazing ‘foreign and repulsive, an unexpectedly, in an earnest suddenly becomes understandable, close and beautiful.
By hiding in different materials and methods figurative or abstract it becomes the only force that gave to humanity’s thirst for life, moves the pencée by tearing of the ordinary.
We consume the Art!
We like to consume the Art!
We like to be shocked by the Art!
This makes us to love or not love, firming it by our power over him and forgetting that it is precisely he who Evelle these feelings in us.
We concommons Art!
We raised the level of consumption until concommation food is to say in the running swallowing sometimes, rarely enjoissant from him and fortunately whole ressentissant with that our advantage over him.
We consommon Art.
We “eat” the Art.
We swallow the Art.
Up nausea.
To pain.
Up joy.
Viktor Musi.