Anneke Buys		Air Sight   straight lines in the sky cloud paths behind tiny silver arrows; firm stroke between undulating forms, an unintended abstract whose meaning would have escaped him: Rembrandt never saw anything like this		Identity Pen, paper or cleaning rag is that who she is? In her head the word-web brilliantly white-frosted, pearl-decked. In her house the dust-trap, the spider. According to the neighbours mumbling and dirt - too lazy to work. No one who reads her words, embraces her heart, understands.