I detest my past, and anyone else's. I detest resignation, patience, professional heroism and obligatory beautiful feelings. I also detest the decorative arts, folklore, advertising, voices making announcements, aerodynamism, boy scouts, the smell of moth balls, events of the moment, and drunken people.
The present reeks of mediocrity and the atom bomb.
I want nevertheless to add that for me the world is a defiance of common sense.
Those who become entangled in these false ideas are prevented from perceiving the Integral Oneness.
Only thought can resemble. It resembles by being what it sees, hears, or knows; it becomes what the world offers it.
Visible things can be invisible. However, our powers of thought grasp both the visible and the invisible – and I make use of painting to render thoughts visible.
I need to see the original paintings just as little as I have to read the original manuscripts of books.
No object is stuck with its name so irrevocably that one cannot find another which suits it better.
My investigations resembled the pursuit of the solution to a problem for which I had three data: the object, the thing connected with it in the shadow of my consciousness, and the light wherein that thing would become apparent.
My painting is visible images that conceal nothing... they evoke mystery. Mystery means nothing. It is unknowable.
An object is not so attached to its name that we cannot find another one that would suit it better.
Painting bores me like everything else. Unfortunately, painting is one of the activities - it is bound up in the series of activities - that seems to change almost nothing in life, the same habits are always recurring.
I have few illusions: the cause is lost in advance. As for me, I do my part, which is to drag a fairly drab existence to its conclusion.
