Color is the language of the poets. It is astonishingly lovely. To speak it is a privilege..

Anything can be any color at any time depending on what color everything else is at the time..

Seeing is such a privilege. Who notices the way the screech of a gull looks, the look of a gale, the sight of some fragrance?.

I must react selectively, contrarily, arbitrarily, perversely, and always with intensity directly from the subject..

My problem is to bring together in a painting two seemingly conflicting, impossibly unmixable ideas. One is that the finished work shall evoke a sens….

A red apple isn't red, nor the lemon yellow. The sky is seldom blue, only when it isn't..