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The artist is the medium between his fantasies and the rest of the world.

The artist never really has any control over the impact of his work. If he starts thinking about the impact of his work, then he becomes a lesser artist.

I say that I suffer from what Rosalind Krauss was calling the post-medium condition, where an artist essentially employs several mediums in order to bring to life whatever specific ideas that they have. For me it's always been that way.

The artist discards all theories, both his own and those of others. He forgets everything when he is in front of his canvas.

No great artist ever sees things as they really are. If he did, he would cease to be an artist.

We don't really want to think that the artist is only very skilled, that he has merely devoted his life to perfecting a certain set of intelligible skills.

The artist forges himself to the others, midway between the beauty he cannot do without and the community he cannot tear himself away from. That is why true artists scorn nothing: they are obliged to understand rather than to judge.

I'm rather kind of old school, thinking that when an artist does his work, it's no longer his... I just see what people make of it.

The real artist has no idea that he is sacrificing himself for art. He does what he does for one reason and one reason only-he can't help doing it.

The writer knows his own worth, and to be overvalued can confuse and destroy him as an artist.