I do not see why the loss of faith in the known image and symbol in our time should be celebrated as a freedom. It is a loss from which we suffer, and this pathos motivates modern painting and poetry at its heart.

I do not see why the loss of faith in the known image and symbol in our time should be celebrated as a freedom. It is a loss from which we suffer, and this pathos motivates modern painting and poetry at its heart.

Frustration is one of the great things in art. Satisfaction is nothing.

It is possible to make a living thing, not a diagram of what I have been thinking: to posit with paint something living, something that changes each day.

There is something mysterious in this work that I do not ever what to discover.

There's some mysterious process at work here, which I don't even want to understand.

Painting is an illusion, a piece of magic, so what you see is not what you see. I don't know what a painting is; who knows what sets off even the desire to paint? It might be things, thoughts, a memory, sensations, which have nothing to do directly with painting itself. They can come from anything and anywhere.