It took me over a couple of months to find the right piece of transparent paper for a section near the centre, on the right side of the Garden of Nebuchadnezzar. When I did find it, it was on a bottle of my wife's toilet water.

With love I draw what I hate.

It took me over a couple of months to find the right piece of transparent paper for a section near the centre, on the right side of the Garden of Nebuchadnezzar. When I did find it, it was on a bottle of my wife's toilet water.

Any artist who doesn't think he's the best should quit.

Made up of corallitic accretions and painful increments, lit on rare occasions by bolts of revelation, and then stuffed behind the wainscotting to grope in the mouse-turd dust, art is the equivalent of athlete's foot, at best an exquisite itch, at worst an excuse to stop walking. On the emotional side, it is either masturbation with a hockey glove or a night beneath the sliding moon that shames Eros.

I make up a set of rules and play within those rules until I win.

I don't believe anyone really likes paint, unless he's tempted to eat it.