I paint objects as I think them, not as I see them.
How often have I found that wanting to use blue, I didn't have it so I used a red instead of the blue.
I hate that aesthetic game of the eye and the mind, played by these connoisseurs, these mandarins who "appreciate" beauty. What is beauty, anyway? There's no such thing. I never "appreciate," any more than I "like." I love it or I hate.
The people who make art their business are mostly imposters.
Who sees the human face correctly: the photographer, the mirror, or the painter?
When German soldiers used to come to my studio and look at my pictures of Guernica, they'd ask 'Did you do this?'. And I'd say, 'No, you did.'