The impossibility of correctness is undeniable. This applies to reality and to reproduction. Today's reproduction of the painting "2016 No.6" is particularly troublesome. It is, however, not the problem that drives me forward. The thrust of my life is me falling down the pit of consciousness, allowing myself to bump on its walls, taking a bang here and a bang there, all for the good of better understanding. I think that's happening. I think that's how I work. In any case, yesterday's work was good work. I do understand more. I do think my path is sound. I do believe it is my path, my path alone and lonely.
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