When I was a younger man, art was a lonely thing. No galleries, no collectors, no critics, no money. Yet, it was a golden age, for we all had nothing to lose and a vision to gain. Today it is not quite the same. It is a time of tons of verbiage, activity, consumption. Which condition is better for the world at large I shall not venture to discuss. But I do know, that many of those who are driven to this life are desperately searching for those pockets of silence where we can root and grow. We must all hope we find them.
Art to me is an anecdote of the spirit.
I'm not an abstractionist. I'm not interested in the relationship of color or form or anything else. I'm interested only in expressing basic human emotions: tragedy, ecstasy, doom, and so on.
Art to me is an anecdote of the spirit, and the only means of making concrete the purpose of its varied quickness and stillness.
To me art is an adventure into an unknown world, which can be explored only by those willing to take the risk.
Without monsters and gods, art cannot enact a drama.
While the authority of the doctor or plumber is never questioned, everyone deems himself a good judge and an adequate arbiter of what a work of art should be and how it should be done.
My art is not abstract, it lives and breathes
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