Because I Cannot Work Except In Solitude,

Give Me A Museum And I'll Fill It.

Without Great Solitude No Serious Work Is Possible.

For Me Painting Is A Dramatic Action In The Course Of Which Reality Finds Itself Split Apart

A Painter Is A Man Who Paints What He Sells; An Artist, On The Other Hand, Is A Man Who Sells What He Paints.

I Hate That Aesthetic Game Of The Eye And The Mind, Played By These Connoisseurs, These Mandarins Who "appreciate" Beauty. What Is Beauty, Anyway? There's No Such Thing. I Never "appreciate," Any More Than I "like." I Love It Or I Hate.