I Am A Night Painter, So When

There Comes A Point When The Paint Doesn't Feel Like Paint. I Don't Know Why. Some Mysterious Thing Happens. I Think You Have All Experienced It... What Counts Is That The Paint Should Really Disappear, Otherwise It's Craft.

To Paint Is Always To Start At The Beginning Again, Yet Being Unable To Avoid The Familiar Arguments About What You See Yourself Painting.

Painting Seems Like Some Kind Of Peculiar Miracle That I Need To Have Again And Again.

Many Works Of The Past Complete What They Announce They Are Going To Do, To Our Increasing Boredom. Certain Others Plague Me Because I Cannot Follow Their Intentions. I Can Tell At A Glance What Fabritius Is Doing, But I Am Spending My Life Trying To Find Out What Rembrandt Was Up To.

I'm Not Interested In Painting; I'm Not Interested In Making A Picture. Then What The Hell Am I Interested In? I Must Be Interested In This Process.