Painting Is Another Form Of Thinking.

Well, The Beginning Is Actually Quite Easy, Because I Can Still Be Quite Free About The Way I Handle Things - Colours, Shapes. And So A Picture Emerges That May Look Quite Good For A While, So Airy And Colourful And New. But That Will Only Last For A Day At Most, At Which Point It Starts To Look Cheap And Fake. And Then The Real Work Begins - Changing, Eradicating, Starting Again, And So On, Until It's Done.

I Don't Mistrust Reality, Of Which I Know Next To Nothing. I Mistrust The Picture Of Reality Conveyed To Us By Our Senses, Which Is Imperfect And Circumscribed.

I Remember That I Felt I Had To Avoid All These Sensational Photos, The Hanged Woman, The Man Who Shot Himself, And So Forth. I Collected A Great Deal Of Material, Including A Number Of Banal, Irrelevant Photos, And Then In The Course Of My Work I Came Back To The Very Pictures I Had Actually Wanted To Avoid, Which Summed Up The Various Stories.

I'm Trying To Paint A Picture Of What I Have Seen And What Moved Me, As Well As I Can. That's All.

There Is Sorrow, But I Hope One Can See That It Is Sorrow For The People Who Died So Young And So Crazy, For Nothing. I Have Respect For Them, But Also For Their Wishes, Or For The Power Of Their Wishes. Because They Tried To Change The Stupid Things In The World.