I don’t believe in an art that is not born out of man’s need to open his heart.

The viewers must come to understand the sacredness of painting, so they will remove their hats as if they were in church.

What is art? Art grows from joy and sorrow, but mostly from sorrow. It grows from human lives.

I was walking down the road with two friends when the sun set; suddenly, the sky turned as red as blood. I stopped and leaned against the fence, feeling unspeakably tired. Tongues of fire and blood stretched over the bluish black fjord. My friends went on walking, while I lagged behind, shivering with fear. Then I heard the enormous infinite scream of nature.

In my childhood I always felt that I was treated unjustly, without a mother, sick, and with the threat of punishment in Hell hanging over my head

Painting picture by picture, I followed the impressions my eye took in at heightened moments. I painted only memories, adding nothing, no details that I did not see. Hence the simplicity of the paintings, their emptiness.

For as long as I can remember I have suffered from a deep feeling of anxiety which I have tried to express in my art.