I Would Wish My Portraits To Be

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.

As Far As I Am Concerned The Paint Is The Person. I Want It To Work For Me Just As Flesh Does

I Always Felt That My Work Hadn't Much To Do With Art; My Admirations For Other Art Had Very Little Room To Show Themselves In My Work Because I Hoped That If I Concentrated Enough The Intensity Of Scrutiny Alone Would Force Life Into The Pictures. I Ignored The Fact That Art, After All, Derives From Art. Now I Realize That This Is The Case.

A Moment Of Complete Happiness Never Occurs In The Creation Of A Work Of Art. The Promise Of It Is Felt In The Act Of Creation But Disappears Towards The Completion Of The Work. For It Is Then The Painter Realises That It Is Only A Picture He Is Painting. Until Then He Had Almost Dared To Hope The Picture Might Spring To Life.

I Work From The People That Interest Me, And That I Care About, In Rooms That I Live In And Know. I Use The People To Invent My Pictures, And I Can Work More Freely When They Are There.