The stronger and more intense my desire becomes to capture and record that which is unsayable, the more tightly my mouth stays shut.

One of my problems is to find the self.

My heart beats more for a raw, average vulgar art, which doesn't live between sleepy fairy-tale moods and poetry but rather concedes a direct entrance to the fearful, commonplace, splendid and the average grotesque banality in life.

Painting constantly appeared to me as the one and only possible achievement.

Space, and space again, is the infinite deity which surrounds us and in which we are ourselves contained.

When spiritual, metaphysical, material, or immaterial events come into my life, I can only fix them by way of painting.

I went across the fields to avoid the straight highways, along the firing lines where people were shooting at a small wooded hill, which is now covered with wooden crosses and lines of graves instead of spring flowers.