Without Great Solitude No Serious Work Is

We Have A Definite But Unknown Quantity Of Experience At Our Disposal. As Soon As The Hourglass Is Turned, The Sand Will Begin To Run Out And Once It Starts, It Cannot Stop Until It's All Gone.

Art Is Lies That Tell The Truth.

What Is Conserved In The Ground? Stone, Bronze, Ivory, Bone, Sometimes Pottery. Never Wood Objects, No Fabric Or Skins. That Completely Skews Our Notions About Primitive Man.

We All Know That Art Is Not Truth. Art Is A Lie That Makes Us Realize Truth At Least The Truth That Is Given Us To Understand. The Artist Must Know The Manner Whereby To Convince Others Of The Truthfulness Of His Lies.

When There's Dust Missing Here Or There, It's Because Someone Has Touched My Things. I See Immediately Someone Has Been There. And It's Because I Live Constantly With Dust, In Dust, That I Prefer To Wear Gray Suits, The Only Color On Which It Leaves No Trace.