Art is either a complaint or appeasement.

One wants one's work to be the world, but of course it's never the world. The work is in the world; it never contains the whole thing.

I am just trying to find a way to make pictures.

As one gets older one sees many more paths that could be taken. Artists sense within their own work that kind of swelling of possibilities, which may seem a freedom or a confusion.

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

One likes to think that one anticipates changes in the spaces we inhabit, and our ideas about space.

Take an object. Do something to it. Do something else to it.