The Greatest Mystery Of All Is Reality.

We Will Enjoy Ourselves With The Forms That Are Given Us: A Human Face, A Hand, The Breast Of A Woman Or The Body Of A Man, A Glad Or Sorrowful Expression, The Infinite Seas, The Wild Rocks, The Melancholy Language Of The Black Trees In The Snow, The Wild Strength Of Spring Flowers And The Heavy Lethargy Of A Hot Summer Day When Pan, Our Old Friend, Sleeps And The Ghosts Of Midday Whisper. This Alone Is Enough To Make Us Forget The Grief Of The World, Or To Give It Form.

I Hardly Need To Abstract Things, For Each Object Is Unreal Enough Already, So Unreal That I Can Only Make It Real By Means Of Painting.

Politics Is A Subordinate Matter; Its Form Of Appearance Constantly Changes Depending On The Needs Of The Masses, The Same Way Cocottes Adjust To The Needs Of Men By Transforming And Masking Themselves. Because Of That It Is Not Fundamental. That Is About What Endures, What Is Unique, What Is In The Stream Of Illusions - What Is Eliminated From The Workings Of The Shadows.

I Believe The Reason I Love Painting So Much Is That It Forces One To Be Objective.

One Thing Is Sure - We Have To Transform The Three-dimensional World Of Objects Into The Two-dimensional World Of The Canvas.. ..to Transform Three Into Two Dimensions Is For Me An Experience Full Of Magic In Which I Glimpse For A Moment That Fourth Dimension Which My Whole Being Is Seeking.