What are you? What am I? Those are the questions that constantly persecute and torment me and perhaps also play some part in my art.
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I have never, God or whatever knows, prostrated myself to be famous, but I would meander through all the sewers of the world, through all degradations and humiliations, in order to paint. I have to do this. Until the last drop every vision that exists in my being must be purged; then it will be a pleasure for me to be rid of this damned torture
My heart beats more for a raw, average vulgar art, which doesn't live between sleepy fairy-tale moods and poetry but rather concedes a direct entrance to the fearful, commonplace, splendid and the average grotesque banality in life.
Love in an animal sense is an illness, but a necessity which one has to overcome.
The stronger and more intense my desire becomes to capture and record that which is unsayable, the more tightly my mouth stays shut.
What matters is real love for things of the world outside us and for the deep secrets within us.
All important things in art have always originated from the deepest feeling about the mystery of Being.
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