I Want To Assassinate Painting.

Art Class Was Like A Religious Ceremony To Me. I Would Wash My Hands Carefully Before Touching Paper Or Pencils. The Instruments Of Work Were Sacred Objects To Me.

I Try To Apply Colors Like Words That Shape Poems, Like Notes That Shape Music.

The Simplest Things Give Me Ideas.

For Me, A Painting Must Give Off Sparks. It Must Dazzle Like The Beauty Of A Woman Or A Poem.

I Work Like A Labourer On A Farm Or In A Vineyard. Things Come To Me Slowly. My Vocabulary Of Forms, For Instance, Has Not Been The Discovery Of A Day. It Took Shape In Spite Of Myself... That Is Why I Am Always Working On A Hundred Different Things At The Same Time.