In a world run by Philistines, where only an ersatz art can be accepted, so only a small nightmare kind of art may be acceptable, where only one species of small nightmare of art may be acceptable, because everything true has been quietly exiled
by intruders turn, there is still a kind of painters, meager, it is true, they still have faith in what they do, and are willing to pay the price for his audacity, namely: disagree with, or confer with the sad comedieta who want to place us frivolous and Phoenicians
of time. But let us give thanks to our good luck because, against all odds, there is still someone like Angel Muriel, who has not yet considered the idea of jumping on the bandwagon of the prevailing farce.
Angel, after all, is a true ARTIST, with permission from all men folk and woman folk who call themselves artists. And I'll tell you why, Angel, still keeps itself the first impulse of the artist, learned in childhood, and saved as the best treasure for the rest of life.