I like the idea of the painting looking at the viewer than the other way around.

There is just no end to reality. You can keep going closer into it, but you never ever come out the other end.

With all its variety and liveliness, color acts in the work of art as blood does as it circulates through our bodies. Color is what keeps the painting alive and moving.

Color is a language. It is the language of painting. How painting expresses itself is in large part with color.

The way I paint, the scale of the information in the images which I want to paint demand space.

I have learned from nature that all is equal... all is equal and in balance. I see everything as fitting together.

The water color process takes me and itself to a destination I hadn't even known existed... Whatever I put down on the page, the paint will dry as it wants to.

Watercolor is an alchemical medium - colors mixing with water, joining with it, being extended by it - creating new life where none had been before.

Painting is the subject of painting.

The older I get, the more I feel that color is what painting is. Painting is primarily color.

Make it a habit to ask for business referrals. There's nothing pushy about it. People won't give you referrals unless you deserve them.

People who think nothing can go wrong are usually disappointed.

As you can see, I keep my word, ” I call to the rest of the crowd. “Do not take advantage of my generosity, and I will not take advantage of your weakness.

My relationship with the mountains actually started when I was 16. Every year, a group used to be taken from Auckland Grammar down to the Tangariro National Park for a skiing holiday.

There's a lot to do when you're a kid - spiders to catch, girls to poke in the eye - stuff to be getting on with.

I grew up pretty much prevented from knowing anything from Communist China except that they were the bad guys that stole our country.

Unlike most major American cities, Honolulu is geographically insulated from the rest of the country. When disaster strikes we cannot call on neighboring states for assistance.

Yet it seems that a final race struggle is unavoidable

Some years ago, the federal government declared war on poverty, and poverty won.

The world's decay where the wind's hands have passed, And my head, worn out with love, at rest In my hands, and my hands full of dust.