On the next day 

There is nothing more painful than the days spent in the anteroom of art. The inspiration   has rushed  in ,  ready to force its way  in the labyrinths  of the theme.   The world  outside gradually loses its   ascendency.   A sunny mist blinds the creator. He searches for the far-off  spot of awareness  where the selective  aptitude  of   imagination isolates reality.  The solitary  prince is alone with  his strongest feelings and his  senses  are  set in motion  along cosmic  trajectories  -  he passes into the  time and  space of  the universe.    The expected  scintilla will  set the charge of poetic impulses ablaze soon. Sometimes love strips up a demonic blast of an octave above the ordinary ignition  devices.     The  dykes  of conscientiousness collapse under the pressure of the thrill of love. Down the river valley of the built up structure the liberated means of expression dart off. Existence is infiltrated with profound meaning.The mussel eagerly opens its shell in platonic sensibility. The thing happens.On the next day the angels choir announces the birth of a work of art. ..

Tsvetomir Assenov -Art Magazin"ADMIRER" /issue 1-2, 1997/