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

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.

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

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

To paint is a possessing rather than a picturing.

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?

But you begin to feel as you go on working that unless painting proves its right to exist by being critical and self-judging, it has no reason to exist at all - or is not even possible. The canvas is a court where the artist is prosecutor, defendant, jury and judge. Art without a trial disappears at a glance.