Art Is A Leap Into The Dark.

Art Is A Finger Up The Bourgeoisie Ass.

But When I Am Alone, I Do Not Have The Effrontery To Consider Myself An Artist At All, Not In The Grand Old Meaning Of The Word: Giotto, Titian, Rembrandt, Goya Were Great Painters. I Am Only A Public Clown-a Mountebank. I Have Understood My Time And Have Exploited The Imbecility, The Vanity, The Greed Of My Contemporaries. It Is A Bitter Confession, This Confession Of Mine, More Painful Than It May Seem. But At Least And At Last It Does Have The Merit Of Being Honest.

I Try To Paint What I Have Found And Not What I Look For. In Art, Intentions Are Of Little Importance.

The Fingerprints Of The God Who Amused Himself Fashioning Them - I Can See Them On Any Bone Whatsoever.

I Have Never Had Time For The Idea Of Searching. Whenever I Wanted To Express Something, I Did So Without Thinking Of The Past Or The Future.