Singing has always seemed to me the most perfect means of expression. It is so spontaneous. And after singing, I think the violin. Since I cannot sing, I paint.

I realized that I had things in my head not like what I had been taught - not like what I had seen - shapes and ideas so familiar to me that it hadn't occurred to me to put them down. I decided to stop painting, to put away everything I had done, and to start to say the things that were my own.

I look at my work and make up my mind about it. After that, neither flattery nor criticism matters to me.

Sun-bleached bones were most wonderful against the blue - that blue that will always be there as it is now after all man's destruction is finished.

The days you work are the best days.

Marks on paper are free - free speech - press - pictures all go together I suppose.

Objective painting is not good painting unless it is good in the abstract sense.