I am against the line and all its consequences: contours, forms, composition. All paintings of whatever sort, figurative or abstract, seem to me like prison windows in which the lines, precisely are the bars.

I have written my name on the far side of the sky.

My paintings are only the ashes of my art

Color is enslaved by line, that becomes writing.

Blue has no dimensions, it is beyond dimensions.

My monochrome pictures are not my definite works, but the preparation for my works. They are the leftovers from the creative processes, the ashes. My pictures, after all, are only the title-deeds to my property which I have to produce when I am asked to prove that I am a proprietor.

Color is sensibility in material form, matter in its primordial state.