The Painting Rises From The Brushstrokes As

Art Class Was Like A Religious Ceremony To Me. I Would Wash My Hands Carefully Before Touching Paper Or Pencils. The Instruments Of Work Were Sacred Objects To Me.

I Work Like A Gardener.

You Can Look At A Picture For A Week And Never Think Of It Again. You Can Also Look At The Picture For A Second And Think Of It All Your Life.

Never, Never Do I Set To Work On A Canvas In The State It Comes In From The Shop. I Provoke Accidents - A Form, A Splotch Of Color. Any Accident Is Good Enough. I Let The Matiere Decide. Then I Prepare A Ground By, For Example, Wiping My Brushes On The Canvas. Letting Fall Some Drops Of Turpentine On It Would Do Just As Well. If I Want To Make A Drawing I Crumple The Sheet Of Paper Or I Wet It; The Flowing Water Traces A Line And This Line May Suggest What Is To Come Next.

Little By Little, I've Reached The Stage Of Using Only A Small Number Of Forms And Colors. It's Not The First Time That Painting Has Been Done With A Very Narrow Range Of Colors. The Frescoes Of The Tenth Century Are Painted Like This. For Me, They Are Magnificent Things.