Art Has Absolutely No Existence As Veracity,

To All Appearances The Artist Acts Like A Mediumistic Being Who, From The Labyrinth Beyond Time And Space, Seeks His Way Out To A Clearing. If We Give The Attributes Of A Medium To The Artist, We Must Then Deny Him The State Of Consciousness On The Aesthetic Plane About What He Is Doing Or Why He Is Doing It. All This Decisions In The Artistic Execution Of The Work Rest With Pure Intuition And Cannot Be Translated Into A Self-analysis, Spoken Or Written, Or Even Thought Out.

I Consider Painting As A Means Of Expression, Not As A Goal.

Art Is Like A Shipwreck; It's Every Man For Himself.

Three Or Four Drops Of Height Have Nothing To Do With Savageness.

All This Twaddle, The Existence Of God, Atheism, Determinism, Liberation, Societies, Death, Etc., Are Pieces Of A Chess Game Called Language, And They Are Amusing Only If One Does Not Preoccupy Oneself With 'winning Or Losing This Game Of Chess.