My painting is nembutsu, an invocation, a prayer, to Amida Buddha.

Brush still in hand, my eyes becoming clear, I find myself laughing at the painting. I'm surprised by my joy.

Marjorie Spalding was the elderly lady who a long time ago taught me so much, including the Bach Flower Remedies.

The baby’s first love object is not the mother, nor even the breast – but the nipple. At his beginning, that is all he Knows.

There’s a stage tradition of stopping before the final applause: “Always leave them wanting.”

I use a lot of ink. I do all my writing – and there is a lot of it – with a fountain pen and Italian ink, and all my black painting with Chinese or Japanese ink.

“Strictly speaking, an image made by chance is an absurdity,” declares H.W. Janson. It implies “attributing a hidden purpose to chance, which thus becomes an agency of the divine will [note the absence of capitals here] personified under such names as Fate, Fortune, or Nature.”

Program music is never free. Contrast Beethoven’s Pastoral with his Fifth or Seventh. And free art should always have more Energy than art with a subject, a story.

Jackson Pollock proclaimed: “I don’t use the accident – I deny the accident.”

My hand
moved
by my Muse.