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HUNDERTWASSER ON HUNDERTWASSER

What does a man need in order to be happy

 

Progression is retrogression and retrogression

becomes progression

 

My painting is, I think, completely different because

it is vegetative painting

 

One reason why other people do not want to paint

vegetatively or want to take to a vegetative way of

life is because it begins too unpretentiously, it does

not have great eclat or drum roll; on the contrary it

grows quite slowly and simply, and that does not

appeal to our social order, people want instant

results based on the slash and burn principle

 

I should like, and I do it too quite instinctively,

to live an example, live an example to people, paint

for them a paradise that each may have, he need

only grasp it

 

Paradise is there, but we destroy it

 

I want to show how basically simple it is to have

paradise on earth

 

And everything that the religions and dogmas and

the various political creeds promise, is all nonsense

 

And there of course I come into conflict with

society which completely misunderstands that

 

They believe that it is eccentricity, just a

publicity stunt, but they forget that that is part of

myself, that that is my natural form of expression

 

Why may a human being not do what he needs to do,

like a flower

 

The colourful, the abundant, the manifold, is always

better than mediocre grey and uniformity

 

Only those who think and live creatively will survive

in this life and beyond

 

One must live as though one were at war and

everything rationed

 

Man must be careful

 

Must think independently, must economize

 

Should not waste blindly

 

Man must take care that the cycle functions

 

The cycle from eating to shitting functions naturally

 

But the cycle from shitting to eating is disconnected

 

Being happy does not depend on wealth at all

 

Does not depend on production

 

That is difficult to say

 

Paintings for me are gateways, which enable me, if I have

been successful, to open them into a world which is both

near and far for us, to which we have no admission, in

which we find ourselves, but which we cannot perceive,

which is against the real world

 

Our parallel world, from which we remove ourselves

in one respect

 

Yes, and that is the paradise, that is what we are in,

what we are arrested in, and which some inexplicable

power denies us

 

And so I have succeeded in throwing windows open

 

How I succeeded is difficult to explain

 

On no account by force, nor by calculation, nor by

intelligence, nor necessarily by intuition, but almost

as though sleep-walking

 

The work of the artist is very difficult, because it

cannot be done by force, diligence or intelligence

 

I think that by strength and diligence and intelligence

one can do anything else in life, but the rewards of

art are totally unattainable by these means

 

Therefore, by goodness even a good person, finds

himself suddenly up against a barrier, he cannot get

beyond it

 

It is very strange, isn’t it, if a man contributes all

he has, diligence, goodness, perseverance, intelli-

gence, everything that he has, and in spite of that he

doesn’t get anywhere

 

What is the reason for this

 

I believe, and I am absolutely certain, and therefore
I believe, that painting is a religious occupation,

that the actual impulse comes from without, from

something else that we do not know, an indefinable

power which comes or does not come and which guides

your hand

 

People used to say in earlier times that it was the

muse, for example, it’s a stupid thing to say of course,

but it is some kind of illumination

 

And the only thing one can do is to prepare the

ground, so that this extraterrestrial impulse or

however else one might describe it can reach you

 

That means keeping oneself ready

 

That means eliminating the will, eliminating the

intelligence, eliminating “wanting to do better”,

eliminating ambition

 

I should perhaps like to be known as the magician of
vegetation or something similar

We are in need of magic

I fill a picture until it is full with magic, as one
fills up a glass with water

 

Everything is so infinitely simple, so infinitely

beautiful


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