An Empty Canvas Is Full.

Even At This Late Date, I Go Into My Studio, And I Think 'is This Going To Be It? Is It The End?' You See, Nearly Everything Terrorizes Me. When An Artist Loses That Terror, He's Through.

Understanding Is A Form Of Blindness. Good Art, I Think, Can Never Be Understood.

And Also The New Excitement And Variety Of Ways That The Abstract Expressionists Were Applying Paint. You Could Put It On As Though It Were Colored Air And It Would Be Painting.

I Refuse To Be In This World By Myself. I Want An Open Commitment From The Rest Of The People.

The Only Thing That I Could Get With Chance, And I Never Was Able To Use It, Was That I Would End Up With Something Quite Geometric Or The Spirit That I Was Interested In, Indulging In, Was Gone.