I Don't Know What Motivated The Artist,

Talk About Painting: There's No Point. By Conveying A Thing Through The Medium Of Language, You Change It. You Construct Qualities That Can Be Said, And You Leave Out The Ones That Can't Be Said But Are Always The Most Important.

My Pictures Are Devoid Of Objects; Like Objects, They Are Themselves Objects. This Means That They Are Devoid Of Content, Significance Or Meaning, Like Objects Or Trees, Animals, People Or Days, All Of Which Are There Without A Reason, Without A Function And Without A Purpose. This Is The Quality That Counts. Even So, There Are Good And Bad Pictures.

I Didn't Actually Know What The Protesters In The West Really Wanted. It Was Fantastic Here, So Much Freedom, And That Was What They Were Calling Musty, Middle-class, And Fascistic, A Bleak Period. Bleak Was What The Gdr Was, And It Alone Had Adopted, Almost Unchanged, Nazi Germany's Methods Of Intimidation And Ideas About Propaganda And The Use Of Force.

Pictures Are The Idea In Visual Or Pictorial Form; And The Idea Has To Be Legible, Both In The Individual Picture And In The Collective Context - Which Presupposes, Of Course, That Words Are Used To Convey Information About The Idea And The Context. However, None Of This Means That Pictures Function As Illustrations Of An Idea: Ultimately, They Are The Idea. Nor Is The Verbal Formulation Of The Idea A Translation Of The Visual: It Simply Bears A Certain Resemblance To The Meaning Of The Idea. It Is An Interpretation, Literally A Reflection.

I Remember That I Felt I Had To Avoid All These Sensational Photos, The Hanged Woman, The Man Who Shot Himself, And So Forth. I Collected A Great Deal Of Material, Including A Number Of Banal, Irrelevant Photos, And Then In The Course Of My Work I Came Back To The Very Pictures I Had Actually Wanted To Avoid, Which Summed Up The Various Stories.