If the artist starts evaluating himself, it’s an enormous block, isn’t it?

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

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

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.

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.

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.