It is as if an artist had within himself a kind of refinery in which to process the raw material of his life, the personal and public experiences, memories, aspirations, everyday work, dreams, doubts, the disappointments and excitements of his pilgrimage through the chaotic labyrinth of the world, and that in doing so, he aims to find himself, to discover the outlines of his own being, to take that heap of desperate, elusive and often contradictory sensations, and forge them into a transcendent meaning.