There's Some Mysterious Process At Work Here,

We Are Image-makers And Image-ridden... We Work Until We Vanish.

I Should Like To Paint Like An Man Who Has Never Seen A Painting, But This Man -myself - Lives In A Museum.

Painting Seems Like Some Kind Of Peculiar Miracle That I Need To Have Again And Again.

It Is Possible To Make A Living Thing, Not A Diagram Of What I Have Been Thinking: To Posit With Paint Something Living, Something That Changes Each Day.

There Comes A Point When The Paint Doesn't Feel Like Paint. I Don't Know Why. Some Mysterious Thing Happens. I Think You Have All Experienced It... What Counts Is That The Paint Should Really Disappear, Otherwise It's Craft.