What Are You? What Am I? Those

Often, Very Often, I Am Alone. My Studio In Amsterdam, (beckmann Lived In The Center Of Amsterdam During World War 2.) An Enormous Old Tobacco Storeroom Is Again Filled In My Imagination With Figures From The Old Days And From The New, Like An Ocean Moved By Storm And Sun And Always Present In My Thoughts. Then Shapes Become Beings And Seem Comprehensible To Me In The Great Void And Uncertainty Of The Space Which I Call God.

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.

My Heart Beats More For A Raw, Average Vulgar Art, Which Doesn't Live Between Sleepy Fairy-tale Moods And Poetry But Rather Concedes A Direct Entrance To The Fearful, Commonplace, Splendid And The Average Grotesque Banality In Life.

Colour, As The Strange And Magnificent Expression Of The Inscrutable Spectrum Of Eternity, Is Beautiful And Important To Me As A Painter; I Use It To Enrich The Canvas And To Probe More Deeply Into The Object. Colour Also Decided, To A Certain Extent, My Spiritual Outlook, But It Is Subordinated To Life, And Above All, To The Treatment Of Form. Too Much Emphasis On Colour At The Expense Of Form And Space Would Make A Double Manifestation Of Itself On The Canvas, And This Would Verge On Craft Work.

I Passed Blindly Many Things Which Belong To Real And Political Life.