We do not make art. We have unnamable motors and dangerous impulses that occupy our thoughts.
I never had a penny to my name, so I changed my name.
I wouldn’t mind people saying, “You can’t do this because this isn’t enough.”
Is passion what we are? Is that what we are in pictures? Is what we are in pictures almost real? Maybe it’s become the most real thing.
The problem with art is, it’s not like the game of golf where you put the ball in the hole. There’s no umpire; there’s no judge. There are no rules. It’s one of its problems. But it’s also one of the great things about art. It becomes a question of what lasts.
The subject comes first, the medium second.
It would be strange for me to think I’m being ripped off, because that’s what I do!
A lot of it’s experimental, spontaneous. It’s about knocking about in the studio and bumping into things.