There may or may not be an idea, and the meaning may just be that the painting exists.

One works without thinking how to work.

I'm working in my mind.

Make something, a kind of object, which as it changes or falls apart (dies as it were) or increases in its parts (grows as it were) offers no clue as to what its state or form or nature was at any previous time. Physical and Metaphysical. Obstinacy. Could this be a useful object?

Intention involves such a small fragment of our consciousness and of our mind and of our life.

I assumed that everything would lead to complete failure, but I decided that didn't matter – that would be my life.

Generally, I am opposed to painting which is concerned with conceptions of simplicity. Everything looks busy to me.