There Is Something Mysterious In This Work

Usually I Am On A Work For A Long Stretch, Until A Moment Arrives When The Air Of The Arbitrary Vanishes, And The Paint Falls Into Positions That Feel Destined.

But You Begin To Feel As You Go On Working That Unless Painting Proves Its Right To Exist By Being Critical And Self-judging, It Has No Reason To Exist At All - Or Is Not Even Possible. The Canvas Is A Court Where The Artist Is Prosecutor, Defendant, Jury And Judge. Art Without A Trial Disappears At A Glance.

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.

To Paint Is A Possessing Rather Than A Picturing.

Where Do You Put A Form? It Will Move All Around, Bellow Out And Shrink, And Sometimes It Winds Up Where It Was In The First Place. But At The End It Feels Different, And It Had To Make The Voyage. I Am A Moralist And Cannot Accept What Has Not Been Paid For, Or A Form That Has Not Been Lived Through.