I am for an art that takes its form from the lines of life itself, that twists and extends and accumulates and spits and drips, and is heavy and coarse and blunt and sweet and stupid as life itself.
If I didn’t think what I was doing had something to do with enlarging the boundaries of art, I wouldn’t go on doing it.
I am for an art that is political-erotical-mystical, that does something more than sit on its ass in a museum.
Painting, especially much better than words, allows oneself to express the various stages of thought, including the deeper levels, the underground stages of the mental process.
I am for an art that grows up not knowing it is art at all. I am for an artist who vanishes.