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

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

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.

In principle, any abstraction of the object is allowed which has a sufficiently strong creative power behind it.

Love in an animal sense is an illness, but a necessity which one has to overcome.

I passed blindly many things which belong to real and political life.

What are you? What am I? Those are the questions that constantly persecute and torment me and perhaps also play some part in my art.