For forty years, in the secret garden I carried with me wherever I went, I painted the light, the fire, the divine magic of the Menorah. I did it with pride, with total dedication. In every painting, I took the time to honour philosophers, writers, poets, painters, musicians… politicians, who contributed enormously to a universal culture that goes well beyond the ghetto and the sempiternal me-myself-and-I. Those four decades were like inserting values of Yom Kippur, with its solemnity and austerity, into my everyday life. With Hebrew Heritage already published, after a short visit to Los Alamos, New Mexico, stroke by the ulterior meaning of the Atomic Bomb, I returned to my secret corner and faced six new canvasses. Departing from the same size, a similar colour scheme and a bombastic common denominator, I culminated an interior quest marked by a tantric aspiration: “I know how to think… I know how to wait… and I know how to fast. That’s all I know.”
