My Paintings Are Wiser Than I Am.

Weeks Go By, And I Dont Paint Until Finally I Cant Stand It Any Longer. I Get Fed Up. I Almost Dont Want To Talk About It, Because I Dont Want To Become Self-conscious About It, But Perhaps I Create These Little Crises As A Kind Of A Secret Strategy To Push Myself.

My Method Is Related To An Attempt To Do Something That Might Be Understood By Today's World, Or That Could At Least Provide Understanding. In Other Words, Doing Something I Understand And That Everyone Understands. This Natural Desire For Communication Is Also Found In Other Domains, Like Reading And Discourse, Etc. I Also Hate Repeating Myself; It Gives Me No Pleasure Whatsoever. Once I've Understood Something, I Need To Start Off On New Ground.

But My Motivation Was More A Matter Of Wanting To Create Order - To Keep Track Of Things. All Those Boxes Full Of Photographs And Sketches Weigh You Down, Because They Have Something Unfinished, Incomplete, About Them. So It's Better To Present The Usable Material In An Orderly Fashion And Throw The Other Stuff Away. That's How The Atlas Came To Be, And I Exhibited It A Few Times.

Everything Has A Reason, Including The Selection Of The Photos, Which Was Not Arbitrary But Appropriate To The Period, Its Highs And Lows And My Sense Of Them.

A Lot Of Different Things Had To Come Together Over The Years, Accumulated Experiences Of A General And Personal Nature, Before The Idea And The Decision Were Developed And Then Carried Out.