Some artists seem to belong naturally to the limelight; their works raucously declare themselves and they joust furiously with each other for the center of the stage. There are other artists whose nature it is to dwell within the shadows of their own private visions. Aubrey Schwartz is quintessentially one of the latter. It is no accident that he is a passionate admirer of William Blake; like Blake, he suffers and exults, despairs and triumphs not within the circus of society but within the purlieus of his own thoughts and feelings. His work is frequently sombre and contains subtle warnings. The tiny rat set low midst a vast expanse of white hints at the mystery of inequality; the lithographs and prints of roadside flora at seed time are microscopic jungles of past, present and future. His work can be sombre but it is not sad; poignant but never mawkish. Eros is present within it. And as the Greeks knew (and we have, perhaps, forgotten), Eros is not sexuality alone but the great life-giving principle and force which includes all that is creative: despair, triumph, suffering and exultation.