To Believe, One Must Have Lost God.

I Wanted To Make It As Anonymous As A Photo. But It Was Perhaps Also The Wish For Perfection, The Unapproachable, Which Then Means Loss Of Immediacy. Something Is Missing Then, Though; That Is Why I Gave That Up.

I Believe That You Always Have To Believe. It's The Only Way; After All We Both Believe That We Will Do This Exhibition. But I Can't Believe In God, As Such, He's Either Too Big Or Too Small For Me, And Always Incomprehensible, Unbelievable.

I Find The Romantic Period Extraordinarily Interesting. My Landscapes Have Connections With Romanticism: At Times I Feel A Real Desire For, An Attraction To, This Period, And Some Of My Pictures Are A Homage To Caspar David Friedrich.

You Can Compare It To Dreams: You Have A Very Specific And Individual Pictorial Language That You Either Accept Or That You Can Translate Rashly And Wrongly. Of Course, You Can Ignore Dreams, But That Would Be A Shame, Because They're Useful.

The Painter Sees The Semblance Of Things And Repeats It. That Is, Without Fabricating The Things Himself, He Fabricates Their Semblance; And, If That No Longer Recalls Any Object, This Artificially Produced Semblance Functions Only Because It Is Scrutinized For Likeness To A Familiar - That Is, Object-related - Semblance.