Painting is like making love. You cannot ask, 'How do you do it?' But, hopefully, it is beautiful.

I repeatedly refuse to make any practical decisions. I get a feeling of nausea about practicality.

Painting is like making love. You cannot ask, 'How do you do it?' But, hopefully, it is beautiful.

When you sit for an hour and a half in front of somebody, he or she shows about twenty faces. And so it's this crazy chase of, Which face? Which one is the one?

And dilettantism is a humorous way to survive. Everybody understands you for it and everybody hates you for it. And not everybody chooses to be a dilettante. Many choose cunning and brute force.

When I look at a drawing of a person, I look at that person as living.

It is very scary to think mechanically about someone you know. That means that the second time you meet a person is useless. Which I tend to believe anyway.