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The Conundrum of the Workshops
When the flush of a new-born sun fell first on Eden's green and gold,
Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched with a stick in the mould;
And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to his mighty heart,
Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves, "It's pretty, but is it Art?
Rudyard Kipling
I don’t dare to call myself an artist. I am a cataloger and archivist. But the fine art for me is another language through which I communicate with the world and discover new ones.
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