Using the concrete pictorial arsenal of post-Cubist abstraction, he plunged into the dark adventure of an anamnesis that might be called the activation of pre-memory, a return to those earliest childhood experiences that are interspersed with the physiognomy of the world without our being able to put our finger on them. Painting thus should serve as a mouthpiece in oneself which translates what the instincts whisper and is the key to an understanding in clear language of one’s inner life. But clearly this can only be in the sense of questions which become form and contain the germ of the answer: the questioner only gets the answer he needs if he follows his passions. Painting can only be a composition of consonants to which we must add the secret vowels which reveal the sense ordained only and exclusively for us – otherwise the living forms grow numb and become dead dogmas.
 

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