The True Artist

He created in abundance

He created lightly

Negligence was his technique

There were stains on the photographs form developer

He threw them on the ground

Walked over them

He made his own passe-partouts

He constructed his own cameras and lenses

He took pictures of ladies at the public outdoor pools

He didn´t give a damn about people or fame

He lived from tiny state support

In a shack inherited from his mum

Art was his job

Art was his therapy

Art was his destiny

He wasn´t recognised in his lifetime

Someone made an exhibition for him

He didn´t care to come

Maybe he wasn´t a loony after all

Maybe the people around him were loonies

killing their days in ordinary jobs and bickerings

People´d go crazy to buy his art now