My Painting Is Visible Images That Conceal

Only Thought Can Resemble. It Resembles By Being What It Sees, Hears, Or Knows; It Becomes What The World Offers It.

I Need To See The Original Paintings Just As Little As I Have To Read The Original Manuscripts Of Books.

Everything We See Hides Another Thing, We Always Want To See What Is Hidden By What We See. There Is An Interest In That Which Is Hidden And Which The Visible Does Not Show Us. This Interest Can Take The Form Of A Quite Intense Feeling, A Sort Of Conflict, One Might Say, Between The Visible That Is Hidden And The Visible That Is Present.

The Present Reeks Of Mediocrity And The Atom Bomb.

People Who Look For Symbolic Meaning Fail To Grasp The Inherent Poetry And Mystery Of The Images.