I Would Wish My Portraits To Be

Were It Not For This [dissatisfaction], The Perfect Painting Might Be Painted, On The Completion Of Which The Painter Could Retire. It Is This Great Insufficiency That Drives Him On. The Process Of Creation Becomes Necessary To The Painter Perhaps More Than It Is In The Picture. The Process Is In Fact Habit-forming.

I Could Never Put Anything Into A Picture That Wasn't Actually There In Front Of Me. That Would Be A Pointless Lie, A Mere Bit Of Artfulness.

I Would Wish My Portraits To Be Of The People, Not Like Them. Not Having A Look Of The Sitter, Being Them.

A Painter's Tastes Must Grow Out Of What So Obsesses Him In Life That He Never Has To Ask Himself What It Is Suitable For Him To Do In Art.

I Remember Francis Bacon Would Say That He Felt He Was Giving Art What He Thought It Previously Lacked. With Me, It's What Yeats Called The Fascination With What's Difficult. I'm Only Trying To Do What I Can't Do.