Painting changed me, instead of feeling a helpless muddle, inadequate in any given situation, doomed to be a misfit, an urgent purpose gave me direction.
Using paint as a medium of transport, as it were, I found a way to cast out my inner confusion. The untidiness inside me was tidied up in my painting.
Since that day I have been impelled either to paint or write, if I stop for a period of a week, I get tangled up again. To explain my compulsion in another way: life to me is a muddle, and my way of making a harmonious pattern from the muddle, is to invent order in my work.
The pattern must be remade every day if I am to keep my spirit calm and serene.