My colors are my childhood ones. Traces of childhood honesty appear on my point of view & my canvas. There is no escape from that. I knew it was a house & there were green trees where I have hanged all my birthday kites from it’s branches & there was a tricycle waiting for me in the corner of the yard. I was going around the world with that tricycle & put wheat shells, stones & raindrops & whatever I saw in its white basket.