I never allowed myself the luxury of those brilliant, beautiful colors until I went to India and saw people walking around in them or dragging them in the mud. I realised they were not so artificial.

There was a whole language that I could never make function for myself in relationship to painting, and that was attitudes like tortured, struggle, pain.

Sometimes I have taken photographs and just felt so excited that I could barely hold the camera steady, and the photo was boring.

There is no reason not to consider the world as one gigantic painting.

I wouldn't use the same color in a picture in more than one place

I like photographs of anything uninteresting. Maybe just two doors on a wall... The point is to be uninteresting.

I'm quite taken aback when I get something that appears to be technically a good photograph, because it's not necessarily my intention.