WORKS BY WARREN CRISWELL IN THE COLLECTION OF
Bruce & Arlene Bueno de Mesquita
New York, NY and Stanford, CA
Dark Road with Tree, 1998, oil on wood
He glared at the figure before him slouching over forward, supporting himself on the sink below. His head was lowered, but slowly began to rise. With trembling lips, and shifting eyes, it exhaled and the swelling of its eye's became apparent. The exhaustion it had capitulated to towered above it. Weakly, it spoke, " Try as you might escape your fate, you'll never pass through the golden gates.", then sighed in more exhaustion. "For it is pain I know, and have come to except, we shall part only when I com to the doors of death. It is pain I except, but it is all that I know. It has become my motivant, the nuturant variable that catalysis my growth. If faith and fate shall machinate my demise, then it seems that perditions road shall only arise." The coherent suffering that it had endured was almost to much to bear. As inabberant as it considered its relationship with pain, it was rational, so it knew joy was there. Despair was abysmal, and that solemn hold that had been placed on its heart had become a vice grip, a source of malicious and nefarious thoughts. It was its only foe, or one in which he mainly fought. He looked back into the mirror," Why have you forsaken me."; then, with erect masculine profoundness stood up. "After my battle with you, my soul will be free."
