The artist is a receptacle for emotions that come from all over the place: from the sky, from the earth, from a scrap of paper, from a passing shape, from a spider’s web.
The artist is a receptacle for emotions that come from all over the place: from the sky, from the earth, from a scrap of paper, from a passing shape, from a spider’s web.
I thought it would be my one and only exhibition, so I decided to call it My Major Retrospective.
The nice thing about the gallery shows is that without having to pay any money you can just go and see it.
Why do two colors, put one next to the other, sing? Can one really explain this? no. Just as one can never learn how to paint.
When I die, it will be a shipwreck, and as when a huge ship sinks, many people all around will be sucked down with it.
I have a horror of people who speak about the beautiful. What is the beautiful? One must speak of problems in painting!
I’ve got over so much. Mum wouldn’t want anything to come into my life that would make me fragile again.
My mum has never wanted me to have children. She thinks I would be destroying my life, even now.
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