I Have A Horror Of

The Artist Is A Receptacle For Emotions That Come From All Over The Place: From The Sky, From The Earth, From A Scrap Of Paper, From A Passing Shape, From A Spider's Web.

Why Do Two Colors, Put One Next To The Other, Sing?

I Don't Develop; I Am.

Painting Isn't A Question Of Sensibility; It's A Matter Of Seizing The Power, Taking Over From Nature, Not Expecting Her To Supply You With Information And Good Advice.

What Is A Face, Really? Its Own Photo? Its Make-up? Or Is It A Face As Painted By Such Or Such Painter? That Which Is In Front? Inside? Behind? And The Rest? Doesn't Everyone Look At Himself In His Own Particular Way? Deformations Simply Do Not Exist.