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painting if all we did was paint then wouldn't we all be saints smearing colors all around as if children on a playground slinging mud green blue red bulging blobs coalesce then digress in an image only the seer sees the creator is the painter the viewer also the creator who drinks the colors with his eyes thick milk spewing from the can a brush slathering shaving cream to the canvas edging lines like a rake in a japanese garden the viewer in reverse creates what the painter painstakingly makes an (endless loop of individual variation)
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