Hands, do what you’re bid;

Bring the balloon of the mind

That bellies and drags in the wind

Into its narrow shed.

               --William Butler Yeats

You have to commit a painting the way you commit a crime.

                                   --Edgar Degas

My work is impure. It is clogged with matter. there is no escape from the physical nor is there any escape from the mind. the two are on a  constant collision course. you could say that my work is an artistic disaster. It is a quiet catastrophe of mind and matter.

                                    --Robert Smithson