In The Past I Have Never Thought

If Only Someone Else Could Paint What I See, It Would Be Marvellous, Because Then I Wouldnt Have To Paint At All.

I Don't Know Who I Am Or Who I Was. I Know It Less Than Ever. I Do And I Don't Identify Myself With Myself. Everything Is Totally Contradictory, But Maybe I Have Remained Exactly As I Was As A Small Boy Of Twelve.

I Don't Know If I Work In Order To Do Something, Or In Order To Know Why I Can't Do What I Want To Do.

Only Reality Interests Me Now And I Know I Could Spend The Rest Of My Life In Copying A Chair.

I've Tried Doing So, For It Was Never My Intention To Paint Only With Gray. But In The Course Of My Work I Have Eliminated One Color After Another, And What Has Remained Is Gray, Gray, Gray!