Art Is A Lie That Makes Us

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.

You Have To Start Somewhere. You Can Always Erase Reality Later On.

Nothing Can Be Done Without Solitude. I've Created My Own Solitude Which Nobody Suspects

I Don't Develop; I Am.

When You Start With A Portrait And Search For A Pure Form, A Clear Volume, Through Successive Eliminations, You Arrive Inevitably At The Egg. Likewise, Starting With The Egg And Following The Same Process In Reverse, One Finishes With The Portrait.