An artist's early work is inevitably made up of a mixture of tendencies and interests, some of which are compatible and some of which are in conflict.
As a painter today you have to work without that essential platform. But if one does not deceive oneself and accepts this lack of certainty, other things may come into play.
As the artist picks his way along, rejecting and accepting as he goes, certain patterns of enquiry emerge.
Focusing isn't just an optical activity, it is also a mental one.
For me nature is not landscape, but the dynamism of visual forces.
His failures are as valuable as his successes: by misjudging one thing he conforms something else, even if at the time he does not know what that something else is.
I think this lack of a center has something to do with the loss of certainties that Christianity had to offer.
I used to build up to sensation, accumulating tension until it released a perceptual experience.
I work with nature, although in completely new terms.
In my earlier paintings, I wanted the space between the picture plane and the spectator to be active.
Painters have always needed a sort of veil upon which they can focus their attention. It's as though the more fully the consciousness is absorbed, the greater the freedom of the spirit behind.
Painting is, I think, inevitably an archaic activity and one that depends on spiritual values.
Properly treated, formalism is not an empty thing but a potentially very powerful answer to this spiritual challenge.
There was a time when meanings were focused and reality could be fixed; when that sort of belief disappeared, things became uncertain and open to interpretation.