Art is either a complaint or appeasement.

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.

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

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?

Old art offers just as good a criticism of new art as new art offers of old.

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

I don't know how to organise thoughts. I don't know how to have thoughts.