My creativity mechanisms are furtive, instinctive, irrational, intuitive and very often anarchic as they are opposed to the ordered and rational side whose rule is to join together that which is scattered. I let the river flow and I contemplate its rhizomatic development, because there is sometimes in the disorder of life more good sense than in what is dictated by the politically correct.
I’m fleeting, immediate but seldom futile, because I flee like the plague from those who speak without anything to say. I have the anguish of the blank sheet, of having to fill the vacuum by other vacuums.
I never draw, because the idea of my projects flow naturally, as the river flows naturally towards the sea.
I confess that I never read, because my impulsive mind wanders as of the first line. I never reach the end of the page as I ask myself so many questions and take so many side roads along the way.