The Picture Should Be Fecund. It Must

What I Am Looking For... Is An Immobile Movement, Something Which Would Be The Equivalent Of What Is Called The Eloquence Of Silence, Or What St. John Of The Cross, I Think It Was, Described With The Term 'mute Music'.

My Way Is To Seize An Image The Moment It Has Formed In My Mind, To Trap It As A Bird And To Pin It At Once To Canvas. Afterward I Start To Tame It, To Master It. I Bring It Under Control And I Develop It.

Throughout The Time In Which I Am Working On A Canvas I Can Feel How I Am Beginning To Love It, With That Love Which Is Born Of Slow Comprehension.

Painting Or Poetry Is Made As One Makes Love - A Total Embrace, Prudence Thrown To The Winds, Nothing Held Back.

Never, Never Do I Set To Work On A Canvas In The State It Comes In From The Shop. I Provoke Accidents - A Form, A Splotch Of Color. Any Accident Is Good Enough. I Let The Matiere Decide. Then I Prepare A Ground By, For Example, Wiping My Brushes On The Canvas. Letting Fall Some Drops Of Turpentine On It Would Do Just As Well. If I Want To Make A Drawing I Crumple The Sheet Of Paper Or I Wet It; The Flowing Water Traces A Line And This Line May Suggest What Is To Come Next.