Every time, before I start a new work, I have to fall in love with the idea of that work and strive for an ideal. It possesses me. It haunts me, wanting to be the most desirable dominatrix. This is the moment when the idea is about to become flesh, and I must love that flesh before it is born. There is something adventurously sweet in the inspiration, a kind of kleptomaniac eroticism, stealing ideas from the recesses of one's own intimate neurons and stripping them for public view. Exposing thoughts, in the form of paintings, is always a challenge, regardless of experience. But before I set off, I have to know exactly where I'm going. For me, it is a contract with myself. Although it is always clear that the ideal is unattainable, I am a fanatical idealist during the creative process. I have to believe, otherwise the meditation won't bear fruit. I communicate the vision I am creating through a painting. It's just a purely personal reality. This personal reality is the absolute reality for me because it contains the most truth. Real life interests me only as a curious observer, to give free rein to my imagination.
Anyone can see my heart, my soul, my mind, in total nakedness, and has the right to form their own opinion about my inner reality. When I plunge straight into creation, I always try to remain open to myself, not to lose my childish enthusiasm, not to chase pseudo-intellectual pretensions. After all, for me, creativity is the best drug, a drug that can be taken without limitations, the only side-effect of which is the loss of reality. So I take it every day, three times after meals, without restraint and anywhere. Everything must be done with the mind, and only to love and create without mind.