He That Hath Knowledge Spareth His Words.

My Painting Is Not Violent, It's Life That Is Violent. Even Within The Most Beautiful Landscape, In The Trees, Under The Leaves, The Insects Are Eating Each Other; Violence Is A Part Of Life. We Are Born With A Scream; We Come Into Life With A Scream And Maybe Love Is A Mosquito Net Between The Fear Of Living And The Fear Of Death.

It Is A Strange Desire, To Seek Power, And To Lose Liberty; Or To Seek Power Over Others, And To Lose Power Over A Man's Self.

Death Is A Friend Of Ours; And He That Is Not Ready To Entertain Him Is Not At Home.

God Almighty First Planted A Garden. And Indeed It Is The Purest Of Human Pleasures. It Is The Greatest Refreshment To The Spirits Of Man, Without Which Buildings And Palaces Are But Gross Handiworks. And A Man Shall Ever See, That When Ages Grow To Civility And Elegancy, Men Come To Build Stately Sooner Than To Garden Finely, As If Gardening Were The Greater Perfection.

I Want To Make Portraits And Images. I Don't Know How. Out Of Despair, I Just Use Paint Anyway. Suddenly The Things You Make Coagulate And Take On Just The Shape You Intend. Totally Accurate Marks, Which Are Outside Representational Marks.