Painting Seems Like Impossibility, With Only A

You Know, Comments About Style Always Seem Strange To Me - 'why Do You Work In This Style, Or In That Style' - As If You Had A Choice In The Matter... What You're Doing Is Trying To Stay Alive And Continue And Not Die.

The Things I Felt... About Certain Painters Of The Past That... Inspired Me, Like Cezanne And Manet... That Complete Losing Of Oneself In The Work To Such An Extent That The Work Itself... Felt As If A Living Organism Was Posited There On The Canvas, On This Surface... That's Truly... The Act Of Creation.

Many Works Of The Past Complete What They Announce They Are Going To Do, To Our Increasing Boredom. Certain Others Plague Me Because I Cannot Follow Their Intentions. I Can Tell At A Glance What Fabritius Is Doing, But I Am Spending My Life Trying To Find Out What Rembrandt Was Up To.

The Canvas Is A Court Where The Artist Is Prosecutor, Defendant, Jury And Judge. Art Without A Trial Disappears At A Glance.

Do I Really Believe That? I Make A Mark, A Few Strokes, I Argue With Myself, Not Do I Like Or Not, But Is It True Or Not? Is That What I Mean, Is That What I Want?