Happiness, for me, emerges from the treasure trove of mental DNA, the double helices of perception and philosophy from which our inner ecosphere is built up, filament by filament. Art is provocative flirtation between reality and the playful mind. The world teases the artist’s vision and symbolism to transcend the commonplaces of fact. A wheel is more than a wheel. It is the lodging-place of motion, or perhaps a wing, a cloud, a body of water.  

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Provocation is part of the game: my way of self-evidently being myself is, willy nilly, a challenge to the established network of symbols, just as it is when I present myself at a party with a brooch inscribed “Practicing silence”. I become a listener.  I paint as I dress: with playful order and a feel for disorder. I like it when fabric succumbs to extended use, and the same goes for the canvas. I play on it as if on an instrument between feeling and vision, I notice everything and more, and store it in my senses, visual and other. I enjoy the overflow of the moment, when the visual weds the emotional. As if I had eyes in my back. I feel everything fits together, because every moment is laden with endless possibilities.​

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There is a huge circus round about me, like an existential storm with the artist in the eye of it, in complete silence. Even the most elementary moments of life. I love waking up in the morning, lying back down in the evening. The face of the waiter is a drama of its own, the hairdresser a whole invention in herself, a film scene. I paint as thoughts roll by in all directions, in an unlimited cascade. I can amuse myself with what is happening around me or not, what is or what could be.

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I set the stage with my theme. I sink pillars with my variations. Then I let things happen on the canvas, and as I paint, sub-melodies and subplots emerge from the great unconscious sea in which we are all swimming, and display themselves on the beach.