Art is a fruit that grows in man, like a fruit on a plant, or a child in its mother's womb.

Ever since my childhood, I was haunted by the search for perfection. An imperfectly cut paper literally made me ill. I would guillotine it.

The essence of a sculpture must enter on tip-toe, as light as animal footprints on snow.

To be full of joy when looking at an oeuvre is not a little thing.

I use very little red. I use blue, yellow, a little green, but especially... black, white and grey. There is a certain need in me for communication with human beings. Black and white is writing.

Artists should work together like the artists of the Middle Ages.

We attempted perfection; we wanted an object to be without flaw, so we cut the papers with a razor, pasted them down meticulously, but it buckled and was ruined... that is why we decided to tear prewrinkled paper, so that in the finished work of art imperfection would be an integral part, as if at birth death were built in.