...Oasis of Purity...

     In the dreadful chaos of our era i catch sight of only a few rare
oases of purity.  man has succumbed to the frenzy of intelligence.
a lunatic impregnated with scientific culture tries to dominate the 
world by means of his pseudo-head.  his inhumanity has led him into 
a sordid labyrinth and he is unable to find a way out.  the machine 
and money are his idols which he worships with devotion.  his joy in 
progress knows no bounds.  he measures-- calculates-- weighs-- shoots fire--  
pulverizes-- murders-- streaks across the air-- burns-- lies-- swaggers--
drops his bombs, and that's how he raises himself above the animals.
with his infernal intelligence and diabolical inventiveness he surpasses
all other living creatures.  his madness grows beyond measure and so do
the confusion in his mind and his love of filth.  he is imprisoned between
the four walls of his intelligence and anything that happens beyond them
leaves him cold.  i catch sight of only a few rare oases of purity in the
dreadful chaos of our era.  i catch sight of only a few rare men in this
chaos.  artists like van doesburg, eggeling, mondrian, sophie-taeuber, 
and vordemberghe-gildewart to whom this page is dedicated, are among them.

     vordemberghe's works express his aversion to confusionism, to 
possession by devils, and to love of filth.  they contain faith and
they endure.  they open up windows in the four walls of intelligence.
vordemberghe's works do not offer, as picasso does in his paintings,
a mirror for man to recognize his ugliness, his filthy and rapidly
decaying mind, his slaughterer's snout, his claws of a sanctimonious
mole, lubriciously eager to torture, his blood-sausage soul depraved
by blasphemy and dangling from his eyes like guts stuffed with poison.
vordemberghe's works purify the earth, they are the direct opposite of
picasso's paintings and their didactic tone.  they don't say: look how
ugly you are, look how wicked you are.  on the contrary: they are full
of beauty and goodness, and point across the human field of ruins to
the natural road toward light, a road inconceivable to the corrupt.

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