These drawing belong also to Carol Levin. The pen and ink drawing would have been typical for selling at night in the bars and also smaller work on paper, since carrying big folders wasn't easy. Tony did write. This is a description of selling drawings in the Quartier Latin and red light district in Antwerp, written in 1975. Tomorrow I'll post the translation in Dutch.
It is time and only time that moves the flow of ink over this creation field, hoping to yield crops of my being.
It is time only that has made live my memories. I am now moving down the cobblestoned night, under my arm a portfolio almost too large to fit under my full stretched arm.
Not only is it outside large also inside is the many colors, colors that love for beauty seen, and all sorts of creations directing has made to give my felt images of caring. The darkness of the hour of eleven seems to melt the black packaged guitar that would sing. As my voice lent balance to its very lovely sound, sound was the direction. Sound and magic lights seemed to say: come show your loves creations, we shall look at your book of drawing and select or reject.
But none the less view your moved tomes, can’t you see the brilliant tones moving in the confirmation of peopled explosions. There a corner of red dancing dolls being
wanted by a soft line that seems to child be. Take me, own me, cries one of the brilliant orange red dancers, only to be passed for lack of definition. Turn to the next a lovely lady of
the night. Housed by the night lighted cafe I know it shall be the one of my meaning, as one and appeared soft drawing. Dreamfilled lovers clinging, their eyes near meeting. But still in fleeting felt moments, trying not to miss lovely as it silently moves by. This they did move to the side called their own to be familied by their understanding. The francs were laid in a row. Could this ever show, would they ever know that it was love alone bought.
And their charity francs was not what won the line created understanding he felt as she received his gift of persuading passion vibrating calling calling for the opening of house of wooden dance singing strings calling for the music to pulse the acceptance of hoped oneness as my voice blended in toned words saying I am alive feeling now reeling as sound takes me in a given loving to the two.
My sounds still my pockets full with food francs thanks that they gave me some one to care for the family, for my creations, creations on this creative field of papered white. Now back to the night in search of sounds and magic light.
How lovely you are, how dear is the people in the homes of my giving.
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