I always feel that I am a traveller, going somewhere and to some destination. If I tell myself that the somewhere and the destination do not exist, that seems to me very likely and reasonable enough … So at the end of the course I shall find my mistake. Be it so. I shall find then that not only the Arts, but everything else as well, were only dreams, that one’s self was nothing at all.
When I do a painting of a place, I get to know it’s intricacies. The angles of the land, colors, shadows, and textures are interpreted from my short term memory and on to the canvas. Sometimes afterward it seems my brain is not satisfied with my output. I have to scrawl it out on the page or be haunted by it like a ghost.