My left hand is my thinking hand (image), my right hand my doing hand (sequence).
I am the form and I am the hollow, the thrust and the contour
I rarely draw what I see. I draw what I feel in my body.
[My works are] an imitation of my own past and present and of my own creative vitality as I experience them in one particular instant of my emotional and imaginative life. . .
I love my blocks of marble, always piling up in the yard like a flock of sheep.
At no point do I wish to be in conflict with any man or masculine thought. It doesn't enter my consciousness. Art is anonymous. It's not competitive with men. It's a complementary contribution.