There's Some Mysterious Process At Work Here,

Then You Learn About Composition, You Learn About Old Masters, You Form Certain Ideas About Structure. But The Inhuman Activity Of Trying To Make Some Kind Of Jump Or Leap, Where , The Painting Is Always Saying, 'what Do You Want From Me? I Can Only Be A Painting.' You Have To Go From Part To Part, But You Shouldn't See Yourself Go From Part To Part, That's The Whole Point.

I Have A Studio In The Country - In The Woods - But My Paintings Look More Real To Me Than What Is Outdoors. You Walk Outside; The Rocks Are Inert; Even The Clouds Are Inert. It Makes Me Feel A Little Better. But I Do Have A Faith That It Is Possible To Make A Living Thing, Not A Diagram Of What I Have Been Thinking: To Posit With Paint Something Living, Something That Changes Each Day.

Painting And Sculpture Are Very Archaic Forms. It's The Only Thing Left In Our Industrial Society Where An Individual Alone Can Make Something With Not Just His Own Hands, But Brains, Imagination, Heart Maybe.

I'm Not Interested In Painting; I'm Not Interested In Making A Picture. Then What The Hell Am I Interested In? I Must Be Interested In This Process.

I Do Not See Why The Loss Of Faith In The Known Image And Symbol In Our Time Should Be Celebrated As A Freedom. It Is A Loss From Which We Suffer, And This Pathos Motivates Modern Painting And Poetry At Its Heart.