Pictures are like corridors. Like tunnels leading to invisible worlds that exist next to our time.

I often worry that everything I have drawn starts its own real life somewhere else – appears OVER THERE and NOW – the lotuses blooms; the women give their laundry to a boil or dress herring with cinnamon; works of a clock contains letters – the ones I have never written; the family of elephants inhabit the cat’s whiskers; castles, apples and lost keys slumber in the drawers; orange fish prepare for hibernation inside a blue piano; somebody loses a shoe; a small fox tries to gnaw at the hammock rope to which a huge town tower is fastened … Only the time passes away THERE quite differently…

Pictures are alive when eyes touch them. Pictures feed on glances.

I feel responsible for the things emerging on a sheet of paper. 

I wish to live in a quite slow world. Possibly, we shall speed our future lives in the worlds imagined by us. I, personally - in the worlds I have drawn myself.