Painting seems like some kind of peculiar miracle that I need to have again and again.

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

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?

The painting is not on a surface, but on a plane which is imagined. It moves in a mind. It is not there physically at all. It is an illusion, a piece of magic, so that what you see is not what you see.

Painting and sculpture are very archaic forms. It's the only thing left in our industrial society where an individual alone can make something with not just his own hands, but brains, imagination, heart maybe.

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

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.