For me nature is not landscape, but the dynamism of visual forces.
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.
I work with nature, although in completely new terms.
Focusing isn't just an optical activity, it is also a mental one.
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.
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.
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.
I used to build up to sensation, accumulating tension until it released a perceptual experience.
As the artist picks his way along, rejecting and accepting as he goes, certain patterns of enquiry emerge.
In my earlier paintings, I wanted the space between the picture plane and the spectator to be active.
I think this lack of a center has something to do with the loss of certainties that Christianity had to offer.
Painting is, I think, inevitably an archaic activity and one that depends on spiritual values.
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.
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