"I'm not inspired by Hitler."
"Do you have light?
"Not very often. I try. I don't think many painters have much light. When you talk about photography, that's just light, tonalities of light and dark. It isn't because there's light out the window that there's light at all. Why are you laughing? It's light in here. But if I painted that, no. No light."
"Without light there's the void."
"The Grand Valley, it's the name of a landscape."
"Yes, it's the name of a place where a childhood friend used to play with her cousin. That cousin died. I imagined it as a green or blue. Her cousin died. My sister died. I didn't have anything else to paint about, okay?"
"It's a mistake to see Joan as an inspired painter. Joan is someone who amasses, collects, absorbs sensations, and affects all day long. Then she reproduces them, with a whole process of elaboration. At night when she paints, when she transposes them, there's a real pictorial transposition in her work."
"She has a burning sensibility, one that has been skinned alive. For her, abstraction serves to hide something. I always see her paintings as a way of erasing. She has a hyper sensitive manner which gives her great vulnerability."
"Gosh one day, I was with my german shephard. We were sitting outside of my studio, the birds were there and having a lovely time, the dogs were too old to attack I suppose, and the weeds were beautiful. I felt I was a part of everything we exist, I was having this moment. And then my foot fell kind of funny and I looked down, there was a viper on it. Sound asleep. And I felt even more a part of nature. But then I looked down at Muriel, my passion, and I decided that I had to kill it. Which I did. With my cane."