Life, religion and art all converge in Bali. They have no word in their language for 'artist' or 'art.' Everyone is an artist.

The richest source of creation is feeling, followed by a vision of its meaning.

I don't hear your words: your voice reverberates against my body like another kind of caress, another kind of penetration. I have no power over your voice. It comes straight from you into me. I could stuff my ears and it would find its way into my blood and make it rise.

Asia discovered two remedies for the cruelty of man, art and religion. America discarded both and is drowning in hate and aggressivity.

Either one fails in one's art or in one's life.

I despise my own hypersensitiveness, which requires so much reassurance. It is certainly abnormal to crave so much to be loved and understood.

The violence and obscenity are left unadulterated, as manifestation of the mystery and pain which ever accompanies the act of creation.