I Want To Assassinate Painting.

What I Am Looking For... Is An Immobile Movement, Something Which Would Be The Equivalent Of What Is Called The Eloquence Of Silence, Or What St. John Of The Cross, I Think It Was, Described With The Term 'mute Music'.

Never, Never Do I Set To Work On A Canvas In The State It Comes In From The Shop. I Provoke Accidents - A Form, A Splotch Of Color. Any Accident Is Good Enough. I Let The Matiere Decide. Then I Prepare A Ground By, For Example, Wiping My Brushes On The Canvas. Letting Fall Some Drops Of Turpentine On It Would Do Just As Well. If I Want To Make A Drawing I Crumple The Sheet Of Paper Or I Wet It; The Flowing Water Traces A Line And This Line May Suggest What Is To Come Next.

Throughout The Time In Which I Am Working On A Canvas I Can Feel How I Am Beginning To Love It, With That Love Which Is Born Of Slow Comprehension.

For Me An Object Is Something Living. This Cigarette Or This Box Of Matches Contains A Secret Life Much More Intense Than That Of Certain Human Beings.

More Important Than A Work Of Art Itself Is What It Will Sow. Art Can Die, A Painting Can Disappear. What Counts Is The Seed.