141 Bowen and Herta Hillfon

I met Herta Hillfon through some beautifull Swede friends last year. She lives in a studio fit for a queen. Probably because the King of Sweden is her great patron. Herta, as I, am interested in art as a metaphsical vehicle. A kind of activity unusual in the egoistic desperate world of art today. Whose art is bigger, or might carry some political message of the moment seems to be what the untrained and pretentious fools calling themselves artists proclaim. They sound to my ears like pigs at dinner,squeeling as they climb over each other for the slop. This is not Herta Hillfon, artist to the King. In this photo she is explaining how she will change her molecules into those that fuse with the bird of flight she has made from clay and speed to her waiting husband safe on her magical bird. That ceramic bird, transformed by her magic, that will take her to her faithfull husband waiting in Valhalla for her immortal love. After we finished our tea and left I thought how much she had returned my mind to my friends in India. To the days and nights we spend together when I am there or they come here.I think of the music we play on veena, drums, and voice. How refreshed I felt after being with a great artist. After having a charming afternoon with Herta Lasse and Cajsa. The faux artists forgotten. So like the pigs they are, desperate for more slop before being inevitably eaten by forces greater than they.