I Could Always Live In My Art

Occasionally I Sense An Insane Wail Deep Down In The Pit, The Echo Alone Reaching Me, Striking Without Warning, A Child Weeping Uninhibitedly, Imprisoned Forever.

Film As Dream, Film As Music. No Art Passes Our Conscience In The Way Film Does, And Goes Directly To Our Feelings, Deep Down Into The Dark Rooms Of Our Souls.

I'd Prostitute My Talents If It Would Further My Cause, Steal If There Was No Way Out, Killing My Friends Or Anyone Else If It Would Help My Art.

Artistic License Sneered Through The Thin Fabric.

Say Anything You Want Against The Seventh Seal. My Fear Of Death - This Infantile Fixation Of Mine - Was, At That Moment, Overwhelming. I Felt Myself In Contact With Death Day And Night, And My Fear Was Tremendous. When I Finished The Picture, My Fear Went Away. I Have The Feeling Simply Of Having Painted A Canvas In An Enormous Hurry - With Enormous Pretension But Without Any Arrogance. I Said, 'here Is A Painting; Take It, Please.'