Only reality interests me now and I know I could spend the rest of my life in copying a chair.

I paint and sculpt to get a grip on reality... to protect myself.

Artistically I am still a child with a whole life ahead of me to discover and create. I want something, but I won't know what it is until I succeed in doing it.

In a fire, between a Rembrandt and a cat, I would save the cat.

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.

All the art of the past rises up before me, the art of all ages and all civilizations, everything becomes simultaneous, as if space had replaced time. Memories of works of art blend with affective memories, with my work, with my whole life.

It is impossible to do a thing the way I see it because the closer I get the more differently I see.