I begin my pictures under the effect of a shock that makes me escape from reality. The cause of this shock may be a tiny thread sticking up from the canvas, a falling drop of water, or print made by my finger on the shining surface of a table.
In any case, I need a point of departure, even if only a speck of dust or flash of light. This form produces a series of things, one giving birth to another.
And so a single thread can set a world in motion. I come to a world from something considered dead. And when I give it a title, it becomes even more alive.
Joan Miró, I Work Like a Gardener (Princeton Architectural Press, 2017), compiled by Yvon Taillandier, preface by Robert Lubar.