Nothing can grow under big trees.
Why write [about my art]? Why not just show the photographs?
What is real is not the external form, but the essence of things.
The function of art is to make that understood which in the form of argument would be incomprehensible.
Nothing grows well in the shade of a big tree.
I ground matter to find the continuous line. And when I realized I could not find it, I stopped, as if an unseen someone had slapped my hands.