Life obliges me to do something, so I paint.
Everything we see hides another thing, we always want to see what is hidden by what we see.
The present reeks of mediocrity and the atom bomb.
If the dream is a translation of waking life, waking life is also a translation of the dream.
We must not fear daylight just because it almost always illuminates a miserable world.
My painting is visible images which conceal nothing... they evoke mystery and indeed when one sees one of my pictures, one asks oneself this simple question 'What does that mean'? It does not mean anything, because mystery means nothing either, it is unknowable.
Only thought can resemble. It resembles by being what it sees, hears, or knows; it becomes what the world offers it.
The mind loves the unknown. It loves images whose meaning is unknown, since the meaning of the mind itself is unknown.
Obsession with the hidden.