In my experience a painting is not made with colors and paint at all. I don't know what a painting is; who knows what sets off even the desire to paint?

Look at any inspired painting. It's like a gong sounding; it puts you in a state of reverberation.

Usually I am on a work for a long stretch, until a moment arrives when the air of the arbitrary vanishes, and the paint falls into positions that feel destined.

Painting is an illusion, a piece of magic, so what you see is not what you see.

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.

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

To paint is a possessing rather than a picturing.