I don't know who I am or who I was. I know it less than ever. I do and I don't identify myself with myself. Everything is totally contradictory, but maybe I have remained exactly as I was as a small boy of twelve.

(Art is) the residue of vision.

I don't know if I work in order to do something, or in order to know why I can't do what I want to do.

In a burning building I would save a cat before a Rembrandt.

What I am looking for is not happiness. I work solely because it is impossible for me to do anything else.

Once the object has been constructed, I have a tendency to rediscover in it, transformed and displaced, images, impressions, facts which have deeply moved me (often without my knowing it).

The head is what matters. The rest of the body plays the part of antennae making life possible for people and life itself is inside the skull.