The first writing of the human being was drawing, not writing.
The etymologist finds the deadest word to have been once a brilliant picture.
When I started school, I would draw pictures at the end of my sentences: a house, a flower, a tree, a bird. Whatever was in the sentence, I'd draw it.
The language of excitement is at best picturesque merely. You must be calm before you can utter oracles.
Photos should suggest a word(s) and vice versa. They should be equal and interchangeable.
Abstract painting seeks to be a pure pictorial language, and thus attempts to escape the essential impurity of all languages: the recourse to signs or forms that have meanings shared by everyone.
I want my pictures to be things. I want them to be made up of marks that are physically and individually self-sufficient.
I am intrigued with the shapes people choose as their symbols to create a language. There is within all forms a basic structure, an indication of the entire object with a minimum of lines that becomes a symbol. This is common to all languages, all people, all times.
You can compare it to dreams: you have a very specific and individual pictorial language that you either accept or that you can translate rashly and wrongly. Of course, you can ignore dreams, but that would be a shame, because they're useful.
