Happiness goes like the wind, but what is interesting stays.

I took back a barrel of bones to New York. They were my symbols of the desert, but nothing more. I haven't seen enough to think of any other symbolism. The skulls were there and I could say something with them.

God told me if I painted that mountain enough, I could have it.

Nothing is less real than realism. Details are confusing. It is only by selection, by elimination, by emphasis, that we get at the real meaning of things.

It seems to be my mission in life to wait on a dog.

I want real things ... music that makes holes in the sky.

It was all so far away - there was quiet and an untouched feel to the country and I could work as I pleased.