I do an awful lot of thinking and dreaming about things in the past and the future - the timelessness of the rocks and the hills - all the people who have existed there.

Most artists look for something fresh to paint; frankly I find that quite boring. For me it is much more exciting to find fresh meaning in something familiar.

To have all your life's work and to have them along the wall, it's like walking in with no clothes on. It's terrible.

I have a good friend, Rudolf Serkin, the pianist, a very sensitive man. I was talking to him one day backstage after a concert and I told him that I thought he had played particularly sensitively that day. I said, "You know, many pianists are brilliant, they strike the keys so well, but somehow you are different." "Ah," he said, "I don't think you should ever strike a key. You should pull the keys with your fingers."

I can't work completely out of my imagination-I must put my foot in a bit of truth-and then I can fly free.

I think one's art goes as far and as deep as one's love goes.

I don't really have studios. I wander around - around people's attics, out in fields, in cellars, anyplace I find that invites me.