I want to be an Artist- Signaturist, an aficionado of signaturism, a genre that might exist. It's an art of seeing the"signatures" in nature and trying to interpret them on the basis of intuition and knowledge of the senses.

About signatures, from Novalis (Die Lehrlinge von Sais, 1800): " People go many different ways. Anyone who follows and compares them will see wonderful figures appear; figures that seem to belong to that great script of ciphers that one sees everywhere, on wings, eggshells, in clouds, in snow, in crystals and in stone formations, in frozen water, inside and outside the mountains...and in the particular conjunctures of chance. In them, one senses the key to this wonderful script, its grammar."

From Leonardo da Vinci's 'Treatise on Painting': "You should look at certain walls stained with damp, or at stones of uneven colour. If you have to invent some backgrounds you will be able to see in these the likeness of divine landscapes, adorned with mountains, ruins, rocks, woods, great plains, hills and valleys in great variety; and expressions of faces and clothes and an infinity of things which you will be able to reduce to their complete and proper forms. In such walls the same thing happens as in the sound of bell, in whose stroke you may find every named word you can imagine."

I am a natural signaturist! I gaze into the trees' bark, ground, ceilings, puddles, floors, bags' folds. I like watching how my mind projects meanings that pour into the earth's creaks, like into mold, immediately forming the language which is up to me to interpret or leave it, same that happens in a dream.

People always seeked for that language. Some called it the Green Language, or the Bird Language. Some tied it to a search of the Universal Language. It stirs, it bothers, it scratches somewhere so close behind the door...

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I walk in the forest, looking for the language that becomes seen as I scrutinize the bark of the trees.

I look and look, that's how I try to read this language... My eyes reach the borders of my mind and stir to life creatures which are hiding there. There are millions of strange characters there. They seem alive, although they are like hieroglyphs carved in the trees' bark. They draw myself to mingle with them, to become a part of the text they are creating, the endless book of unread myths.

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