So you want to know our birth date!

We are of the same age with the first rain that touched the earth; with the swiftest dew turning clay into mud... Probably even older than those! Moreover, everlasting our births are: With the leaf of every branch that designs glorifications for the sun, at every shoot getting rooted - even at couches - we are being born again. At the merry warblings of titmouse birds, at the caterpillar cocoons pregnant for their butterflies, with the snake waving hand to the shirt it remained behind, "Hello!" saying we are to the
earth and skies again and again.

We are just changing forms on the other hand: Neither are we born in fact nor dying at all. Because we are of those energies whose death will only be an illusion. A death which in fact is pregnant for new births. A death which is a vacation!

Are you wondering where we were born?

Where winds were born is our birth place; where the tree of Arbor Vitae and Phoenix bird were born... Where the waves of ocean have first been visible to eye, where the pollens of scotch firs last touched the grass is our birth place. The mountain that God has
given the Commandment to prophet Moses, the garden that Judas has 'sold' Jesus kissing, the river that Hallaj's ashes were flung on is where we were born.

Everywhere, or nowhere...

Nevertheless you may ask "How does he see art?" or "Which trend does this poor man support, follow?"

May the ego-centrics derive points of views - while seeking after a remedy for their crises, a cover for their spiritlessnesses - ; belch out very personal(!) opinions to the public! Let them divide and get divided by 'ism's and trends but never represent the
ability to give an answer to the question "Who am I?"

We neither are afflicted by art nor care for trends!

This man only is a spring, a waterfall coming from agnosia ascending towards the luminious Upper Truth. Whatever he does, whatever he tells or writes, whatever he paints or draws is just a shovel of pebblestones, a handful of sands left behind... We
certainly are not an artist or the like. However we may be the apprentice of that Cosmic Master, making a hundred mistakes thus opening the path for a thousand reproaches a day.(We have not yet even fully deserved our name: 'Safai' is said to mean brightness,
cleanliness, purification!)

Did you ask whereabouts, when, how many exhibitions had we arranged?

Do not make us laugh; do you ever think there can be any moment that we are not at an 'exhibition'?