To all appearances, the artist acts like a mediumistic being who, from the labyrinth beyond time and space, seeks his way out to a clearing.

I have forced myself to contradict myself in order to avoid conforming to my own taste.

My idea was to chose an object that wouldn't attract me, either by its beauty or by its ugliness. To find a point of indifference in my looking at it, you see

All this twaddle, the existence of God, atheism, determinism, liberation, societies, death, etc., are pieces of a chess game called language, and they are amusing only if one does not preoccupy oneself with 'winning or losing this game of chess.

I don't believe in art. I believe in artists.

You cannot define electricity. The same can be said of art. It is a kind of inner current in a human being, or something which needs no definition.

Destruction is also creation.