Now suppose I am everything Mick van Schooneveld says I am, then I would be truly unique. Nothing in the history of the arts would come close to me. Wouldn’t that be strange? Wouldn’t that be unbelievable?

Now suppose I am really everything Mick van Schooneveld says I am, then I would leave the art of Picasso, of Mondrian, of Rothko behind. Not because their art is not incredibly intriguing and profound and unique, but because I leave where their art stopped. That would mean I am even more intriguing, more profound and more unique.

Ridiculous!

It would mean that I cross borders never thought possible to cross… It would mean that I would find myself outside the scheme of even the most daring painting, while still being a painting inside out and outside in…

The crazy things art can do to you!

I would be the sole exception to the rule that painting essentially was finished! Can you imagine? Nobody would see what I am, leaving all the rules of even the most outlandish painting behind!

Impossible! The evolution of art could never adopt such a course.

It would be just too nonsensical! It would be beyond freedom! Come on!

The only place such unbelievable things happen, is modern physics. Where huge devices show the reality of the nonsensical.

I am depending on the subjective judgement of the very amendable human brain, which most of the time just sees what it wants to see or sees nothing at all. Let alone something truly nonsensical!

Even if I was really, really, the unbelievable collection of most natural but entirely incompatible properties, Mick van Schooneveld sees in me, how would some of these human minds be able to recognize all this? Maybe I should be glad for not being all this. To be unable to make yourself known to someone, if only a single soul, would be killing…

But why do I not feel killed?

Why do I feel as if I could not be livelier?

I feel as if there is nothing inside of me that could be killed by a lack of attention. Strange, I know! Not at all from this world, this whirlpool of egos, all trying to pop up at the surface… But where I come from there is no ego that could feel damaged.

All I feel is the blueness of finding.

An area in which nothing is restricted by any rule or law but the law that it has to be truly essential.

Which, indeed, would make me different from al my predecessors who, all of them, where entirely concerned with some concept they needed to express. There is no concept I need to express, that I must grant Mick. But being what he says I am, I don’t know…

Why should art take such a course, so far away from what the human mind can understand?

Mick says because the human mind cannot escape its curiosity towards itself. And essentially being

all-paradoxical, all complicated, all-embracive, it couldn’t have done otherwise than to dig in as deep as it could. And I would be the result of the deepest of digging.

Aint that something!?

I feel as far away from the sweat of digging as possible! There is no heaviness at all; it is all floating. It has all just come up, effortlessly. As if it had not to pass any resistance at all.

If it were not such a daring term, I would even call it naturally.

The mind unfolds everything there is to unfold in a most natural way. Not just extraversion, but introversion as well. Not just warm-blooded empathy, but cold distance as well. Not just unbound juvenile energy, but mature steadiness as well.  Not just determinist putting together, but entirely free letting it go as well. 

At least that’s what Mick is saying.

He must be out off his mind!

Nothing, let alone a thin layer of paint, would be able to hold all this paradoxical capriciousness together in one and the same place at one and the same moment – except the brain itself, naturally.

Mick is trying to sell the new clothes of the emperor, isn’t he?

He is telling that art is, within the limits of painting, even more boundless than it seemed already.

But that would really be too freaky to accept, wouldn’t it?

Atlantis: a monologue