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

I go to the studio everyday because one day I may go and the Angel will be there. What if I don't go and the Angel comes?

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

I should like to paint like an man who has never seen a painting, but this man -myself - lives in a museum.

I am a night painter, so when I come into the studio the next morning the delirium is over.

You know, comments about style always seem strange to me - 'why do you work in this style, or in that style' - as if you had a choice in the matter... What you're doing is trying to stay alive and continue and not die.

No good to paint in the head - what happens is what happens when you put the paint down - you can only hope that you are alert - ready - to see. What joy it is for paint to become a thing - a being. Believe in this miracle - it is your only hope. To will this transformation is not possible. Only a slow maturation can prepare the hand and eye to become quicker than ever. Ideas about art don't matter. They collapse anyway in front of the painting.