The first thing you must understand is that understanding itself is a bourgeois luxury. I sat in the back room of a Zürich beer hall last February with nothing but a pair of tailor's scissors and a stack of yesterday's Abend Kurier, and I cut. I cut through the advertisements for piano manufacturers and the obituaries of soldiers I would never meet. When I was finished, I had not art — I had truth.
“THE COLLAGE DOES NOT LIE. A PHOTOGRAPH CUT IN HALF REVEALS MORE TRUTH THAN ANY PAINTING.”