The Texture Of Experience Is Prior To

Man's Own Form In Space - His Body - Was A Private Prison; And That It Was Because Of This Imprisoning Misery - Because He Was Hungry And Overworked And Went To A Horrid Place Called Home Late At Night In The Rain, And His Bones Ached And His Head Was Heavy.

I Don't Paint To Live, I Live To Paint.

Not Even For A Million Dollars Would I Paint A Tree.

Even An Abstract Form Has To Have A Likeness.

In Art One Idea Is As Good As Another.